


I Defy the Stars

by spirithorse



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Arthurian AU, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:05:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6467716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirithorse/pseuds/spirithorse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The short, lauded reign of King Jean is coming to an end and his destiny is quickly catching up to him. It's up to Marco to watch his king carefully during his last days. Sequel to Hollow, Hollow All Delight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. God Save the King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [southspinner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/southspinner/gifts), [ZoeBug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeBug/gifts).



> For the prompt: “Camelot au. Maybe the boys as Arthur/Merlin? Maybe Gwen/Lancelot? We just don't know, but lots of swords and magic and the burden of power resting on fragile shoulders and the strength of someone else to life them up, etc. I just... Camelot aus. All the Camelot aus.”
> 
> Apologies for playing fast and loose with SnK canon, Arthurian literature and Celtic mythology. This was basically an excuse to work through the pain from chapter 77, so spoilers for the manga up to that point. Title taken from [ this poem](http://widowbitesandhearingaids.tumblr.com/post/126066100827/i-defy-the-stars-i-defy-heaven-and-hell-the).

Marco stumbled through the battlefield, his fingers going numb from how hard he was gripping the sword. The smell of smoke and blood filled his nose and mouth until he felt like he was choking on both of them. Something in his magic rebelled at them too, although it could be the iron in his sword and shield, Marco didn’t know. Iron had never bothered his magic before, at least not to the degree that it impeded other sorcerers, but that had been before his magic had been stripped from him and then abruptly shoved back into place. Before his magic had been easy to command, but now it shivered and danced in his veins, almost too bright and hot to bear.

He gritted his teeth and pushed onward, hopping awkwardly over bodies without looking at them. He didn’t want to risk seeing the faces of his friends or the enemy. He didn’t want to meet the gazes of dying men and be torn between rushing off and healing them. There was only one purpose that he was moving towards, the horrible vision that he had seen reflected in the crystal pillars of that cave.

The battle had been there, in full sound and color, although Marco was almost sure that it had been Hange’s muffled screams as Armin had tried to set her shoulder back in place. That or the dying screams of Rod Reiss as he had tried to extract himself from the rubble that had fallen on him. Marco hadn’t been sure what had happened to Kenny and his band of mercenaries. He was sure some of them had been there, but Levi hadn’t said anything, not even when he had come back through the cavern with a bloody sword and a darkness in his eyes that wasn’t usually there.

Marco hadn’t paid much attention beyond that, because he had been drawn into the vision. Not that he had needed to see it. It had been in his dreams, his nightmares and all the moments between since he had met Jean and heard Prochoros speak those damning words.

Jean would become king, reunite the realm and die at the hands of traitors. Marco’s task was to guide him through that part of his life, to stand by him and protect him until the time came to let him go. There had always been promises about how he would return, when the need was greatest.

None of that had ever helped, because Jean wasn’t a horrible asshole. He wasn’t someone Marco wanted to see the back of. He was noble and tried his hardest to preserve the kingdom that he had slowed pieced together. He was Marco’s friend, his entire world, and Marco had watched him die for five years in his dreams.

Marco shuddered and pushed away from the rock, slogging through the edges of the battlefield. Ahead, he could see colorful banners waving, the blue and white wings on green for Jean’s forces. The green unicorn on gold for Historia’s. There were some that he couldn’t quite identify, horrible twisted creatures and howling wolves. Then there was the blood red giant on a dark red field. Marco narrowed his eyes and sped up. _That_ was where he would find War Chief Zeke and whoever had been betraying Jean for so long.

His vision had never helped with that, he had only seen Jean making a last stand among tall and uncaring stones. The rest of his army had been drawn away because of a surge of reinforcements; screaming, painted Cewri. Marco had never questioned how he had known that, he had just known it to the marrow of his bones. Like he had known exactly how long Jean would last before his opponent ran him through. Just like he had known that Clarent was the sword that would strike the final blow. Jean would fall then, Dyrnwyn tumbling from his hands and turning cold. And that would be the end of everything.

Marco squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, not bothering to slacken his pace. In every vision Jean was alone, and Marco couldn’t let that happen. It didn’t matter what his visions told him, no matter how bright and loud they got. The dragon had said that his place was by Jean’s side, so that was where he would be until the end came. And he would fight that end until the last.

He skirted the edges of the battle, glancing over at the morass of men and women as they charged each other. He couldn’t hear much of what either sides were saying over the general roar, but he would sometimes catch the sound of a battle cry rising above the rest. Once he saw the entwined roses of Queen Rita as her forces held the line, the banner wavering dangerously.

Marco curled his fingers into his palm, wincing at the sound of the dying. What he wanted more than anything was to rush down and help. He could turn the tide there and send the Cewri running. They respected magic just as much as Jean and his allies feared it. The sight of a sorcerer calling down fire and death would send them running, because Marco knew there would be no other that would stand up to him. With the way that his returned magic was bubbling and sparking, Marco was sure that any spell he tried would succeed.

But he didn’t.

He rushed away even as the banner of Queen Rita fell to cheers from the Cewri. As much as it pained him, he needed to save all he had for the end, because he still hadn’t found Jean.

Marco cursed under his breath and sprinted up one of the sides of the bowl that the battle had fallen into. He used the higher ground to scan for the king and the knights that were sure to be around him, but the constantly shifting masses made it hard. The best he could do was spot the banners and try to see if Jean was close by, but he doubted it. Jean was headstrong and stubborn, which meant he would be right in the thick of battle. The only thing that stopped him from rushing down was the knowledge that Eren would be right beside Jean, matching the king for every swing.

Even that knowledge didn’t help, because Eren wouldn’t be there in the end. Marco didn’t know where Eren would be, he didn’t know where any of his friends would be. Any scrying he had tried had only shown him Jean.

Jean fighting. Jean dying and the world moving on.

Marco stared into the writhing mass of humanity, trying to ignore the way that it felt like time was slipping through his fingers. His last vision in the crystal caves had started a countdown, although he couldn’t put a finger on the exact time. All he knew was that it was getting closer. Sometime soon, Jean would go to fight the traitors and, unless Marco could stop it, he was going to die.

He ran towards the end of the battle, hoping to edge around it and into Jean’s camp. Maybe he could find someone who knew where to find Jean. Or maybe he could fake a message to get Jean’s army to pull back. There was bound to be better ground or a better plan that someone would come up with to make up for losing the first day. If he could just get Jean away from the dip in the earth and the lonely stones, then maybe he could get a reprieve.

It was the long way to do things, but it was the only choice he had. Marco glanced towards where he could just see the tops of the tents, trying not to look at the stream of soldiers who were being supported back. What he really needed was a horse, but Marco didn’t think that Llamrei would hear him if he whistled to her. Buchwald might be closer, but he didn’t want to chance unhorsing Jean. It was his own fault for deciding to split off with Armin and Hange on foot instead of following Jean directly to the battlefield, but he had needed his magic back.

A scream made Marco turn. He raised his shield automatically, bracing for impact as the Cewri’s great axe bit into the wood. Marco held his ground for a moment, waiting for the Cewri to stop tugging. Then he twisted to the side, sending his attacker down the hill. His shield went with the man, Marco being tugged along with the Cewri’s momentum before he managed to wiggle his arm free. The Cewri and the shield rolled down the hill before coming to a halt with a sickening crack as they fetched up against one of the rocks.

Marco shivered at the sight of blood leaking out of the corpse, but he stumbled onward. He couldn’t risk getting caught unawares again. He split his attention between the battle below and the tops of the hills around him. Most of the force was below, but the Cewri that had attacked him had come from above. Marco eyed the slopes warily, readjusting his hold on his sword.

With the spires of stone it was hard to tell if there was someone lurking in the shadows or if it was just a stone. It was the perfect place for an ambush, something that Marco had thought that Jean’s commanders would have warned him about. Unless the battle had started somewhere else and the Cewri had drawn the united armies into the depression between the hills.

He frowned, scanning over the stones only to come to a sudden halt. There was movement in the shadows of one of them, Marco unable to count them from where he was, but he was sure that it was at least two people. If they had been allies, then they would have made themselves known. Instead, they shrunk back against the stone.

Marco climbed the hill at a run, readying his sword to block the attack that was sure to come when he reached the top. There was no need for surprise, they had seen him already.

He crested the top of the hill, the words of a spell dying in his throat when he saw what awaited him.

Three people in armor were half crouched in the shadows between two stones. Beyond them was a narrow pass that dropped down into the ravine on the other side of the line of hills. Dust rose from the ravine, Marco watching as a massive force marched towards them. His heart pounded faster as he saw the blood red giant banner of War Chief Zeke, spotting the man striding proudly at the front of his forces.

He spun around to check the battle, his stomach turning when he saw the same banner but no war chief. It had all been a trap and someone had made sure that the army had come down into the space between the hills so that they could be slaughtered.

Marco turned on the three people, raising his sword only to stop. He recognized the armor that they were wearing, all of it matched and well cared for. As a rule the Cewri didn’t wear metal armor and certainly not armor that was in one piece. They scavenged theirs from the bodies of the dead or rushed out in leather, believing in the strength of their shield, their sword and their skills. These three looked more like soldiers from Trost or Mitras.

He took a hesitant step forward, freezing when he saw one of them turn to face them. He stared at Reiner, feeling bile rise in the back of his throat. “No.”

“Marco, what are you doing here?”

Reiner’s question drew the attention of the other two, Marco glancing between Bertholdt and Annie. He stared at the three of them, trying to sort out what he was seeing.

The three of them had always been a part of Jean’s retinue of knights. They had been there longer than Marco had. Marco had always considered them an essential part of the group of knights that surrounded Jean, people that he could trust with Jean’s safety if he needed to sneak off to do magic. He _had_ trusted them alone with Jean so many times.

He glanced at the advancing army, carefully lowering his sword. There was every chance that he was wrong, that they had fought their way out of the mess and had just come upon the army. He wanted that to be true, because he didn’t like the alternative.

Marco licked his lips, trying not to be obvious about the way he was shifting his hold on his sword. “I’m looking for Jean.”

“I thought you went with Hange and Levi.”

He nodded, watching as Bertholdt started to move over towards the path down into the ravine. “I did. We took care of it.”

Annie seemed to perk up at that, her hand going to her sword. “What did you take care of?”

“It was nothing.” The halting conversation was putting him on edge, as did the way that Bertholdt was just watching. Unless he was counting numbers he should have been rushing to sound the alarm. Instead, he seemed willing to wait. Marco turned his attention back to Reiner, not liking the forced smile on the man’s face. He glanced between Reiner and Annie, his heart beating faster as he saw Annie start to draw her sword. “We’re here now, and that all that matters. It was a good thing too, I don’t think anyone knows about this.”

Marco took a step closer to the path, glancing over the army. He didn’t have the time to count, not with the way that he was turning his back on the three of them. It wouldn’t be long, just enough to sell the idea that he didn’t see anything wrong. He glanced over at Bertholdt, taking in the man’s worried expression and the way that Bertholdt wouldn’t meet his gaze.

That confirmed all he needed to know. The three of them were doing something, because not one of them had made a move to leave. If anything, they seemed to be stalling. They didn’t want him going to warn Jean about what was going on, they wanted reinforcements to arrive. As Marco watched the sun flash off the axes of the approaching Cewri, he realized that he had never actually heard where the three had come from. The most he had gotten was somewhere south, near Shinganshina. Right in the territory taken over by the Cewri.

He turned his head to look at Bertholdt, his gaze lingering on the man for a moment before it slipped to the arrangement of rocks behind him.

Marco followed the hunch of the rocks, his stomach sinking at the all-encompassing sense of _déjà vu_. He had been to this place between the rocks many times in his dreams and in his nightmares. This was where Jean made his final stand after Zeke’s army came charging through. Marco had no doubt that one of the three would be the one to strike the fatal blow.

He licked his lips, his gaze moving back to the army. There were two choices that he could see. He could rush back to Jean and warn him of the army, but that would change nothing. Jean would still end up on the top of this hill, fighting one or all three until he died. Marco knew that with a certainty that frightened him more than the sight of hundreds of Cewri. His other option was to hold the pass itself. There were plenty of things he could do to stop the Cewri from rushing in. If he did that, then Jean wouldn’t have to fight on the top of the hill. He could handle the traitors all by himself and save that many more lives.

Marco curled his fingers tighter around the hilt of his sword, turning slightly. “Bertholdt-”

He never got to finish, Marco grunting as Reiner plowed into him. The full weight of Reiner and his armor knocked the breath out of him even before he was shoved the ground. Marco gasped as he felt something in his chest give, pain radiating out from his ribs. He gritted his teeth against a sound of pain, glaring over at where Bertholdt was just watching the two of them with a look of shock of his face.

Reiner sat up, Marco hissing out a breath as he felt Reiner’s knee dig into his lower back. His hands pressed down on Marco’s shoulders and his mouth, holding him in place as Reiner moved around. Reiner didn’t seem to hear the sounds that he made in protest, his attention were on his two other conspirators.

“Bertholdt, signal them to move faster. Annie, take his sword.”

Marco growled and tried to buck Reiner off his back. When he couldn’t move the man, he shot a glare over at where Bertholdt was waving a red bit of fabric. He couldn’t see the army, but he was sure that they would be rushing for the hill, which meant that he didn’t have enough time.

His attention jerked back to where Annie was kneeling in front of him. She barely looked at him, her hand hovering over his sword before she curled it into a fist.

Marco screamed into Reiner’s palm as Annie slammed her armored hand into his. He heard bones snap, his fingers going limp around the sword. He glared at her through his tears of pain, seeing the flash of his sword as she threw it away. His attention didn’t linger long on it, Marco drawn to the flash of green on the pommel of Annie’s sword. His eyes widened as he recognized Clarent by the gem and the gold twisted in the hilt with the black leather. So she had been the one to steal the sword, which meant that she would have been the one to kill Jean.

He felt the magic surge through his veins with his anger, the tips of his fingers tingling with the use to use it. He had spent most of his life protecting Jean and he wasn’t going to stop, not even if he was outnumbered.

Marco jerked his head back, the sudden move startling Reiner enough that the man let go. He used the little bit of room that he had bought himself to reach out and grab onto Annie’s wrist, not caring that it was his bad hand. It was enough to just be touching a part of her.

He locked eyes with Annie and snarled out the words as the felt the magic burst from him. “Þærinne ymbcierran. Organ cristalla!”

Marco thought he heard Reiner curse, but his attention was fully on Annie.

The woman pulled back from him, but it was already too late. Marco had felt the magic burst from him, like it was eager to move after being held back for so long. The air around Annie sparkled, but Marco was sure that no one but him saw it. Reiner and Bertholdt didn’t notice anything until crystal started to move up Annie’s legs.

Annie yelped and reached down to push at it, but it couldn’t stop the crystal. It climbed voraciously up her legs, Annie lifting her hands away when it closed over her waist.

Bertholdt lunged forward, grabbing onto her arm. “Annie!”

“Get away!” She shoved at him, Bertholdt stumbling back just as the crystal closed over her arms. She stared down at herself before glancing back at Marco with wide eyes. Annie opened her mouth to say something, but she seemed to change her mind at the last minute. To Marco’s surprise, she just nodded at him before closing her eyes.

He didn’t think about the motion for too long, he was too busy moving onto the next problem. The magic was still roiling in him, mixing with his betrayal and desperation. He didn’t have time for thinking or remembering how the three had been before. There were more important things like Zeke and his army, and the bone deep knowledge that he wasn’t going to let any of them kill his friends. He wasn’t going to let them kill Jean

Marco hauled himself forward, not getting too far before Reiner recovered his shock. The breath was knocked out of him again as Reiner slammed his knee down into his back.

“What did you do?!”

He turned his head, feeling the magic surge through him again. He tried to clamp down on it, but it was hard now that he had used a bit of it. It was like the magic had been just as frightened as he had been when it had disappeared from his reach. Marco doubted that the magic was alive in the way that he thought, but he didn’t have time to think too much.

“Get off of me.”

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

Marco shook his head, meeting Reiner’s gaze. “Intend lieg!”

There was a rumble of thunder before bright light arched out of the clear sky. Marco felt it when it hit Reiner, the man’s body jerking on top of him. Marco yelped at the sharp pain, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

Reiner slid off of him, Marco scrambling to his feet with a gasp when he saw what had happened to Reiner.

The top of the knight’s head was completely gone, leaving only the lower jaw, blackened and smoking. Marco pressed his good hand to his mouth, feeling his stomach turn. He hadn’t meant to kill Reiner, he had meant for a small fire or for the lightning to hit on the ground, just something to scare the man off of him so he could fight.

The anger leeched out of him in an instant, Marco stumbling back to lean against one of the rocks. He could still feel the magic thrumming through him, but Marco tried to ignore it. He was better than that, better than just lashing out in anger and killing.

He dragged his gaze over to Bertholdt, watching as the man shook. Marco lowered his hand from his mouth, trying to come up with words that weren’t just spells spat out in a panic. It took him a moment to remember how to be anything but a conduit for magic. He coughed, pushing words in a half forgotten language out of his mind in favor of those that he knew that Bertholdt would understand. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t enough, he could tell that from the way that Bertholdt looked at him. The one glance was enough to make him want to shrink back against the rock and stay there until Bertholdt was gone. But they weren’t in Trost anymore, they weren’t in a place where fake smiles could help anything.

Marco braced his hand against the rock, opening his mouth to say something before deciding that there was nothing left. He couldn’t apologize enough for what had happened to Reiner and, although it sickened him that he had been the one to kill the man, it would have happened. It would have been Jean or Eren or any one of their friends, but it would have happened. Marco knew that with the same certainty that he knew that Jean would die in battle.

He glanced back over his shoulder, looking down at the rest of the army in the space between the hills. He didn’t have the time to warn them, but he was in the perfect position to keep the reinforcements from breaking through. With his sword somewhere in the ravine, broken ribs and a right hand, he had nothing left but magic. He’d had plenty of practice stalling for time with his magic.

Marco trailed his left hand over the rock he was standing against, reaching out and down with his magic. He could feel the other stones on the hills, Marco focusing on the ones that were along the edge of the ravine. He bit his lip before pressing his palm firmly against the rock, commanding it. “Stanas ahreosaþ.”

The stone under his hand quivered a bit, Marco stepping out of the way as it toppled over. The rest of the stones on the hillside fell, Marco hearing their low rumble as they created a wall along the top of the hill. It was loud enough that the soldiers on the other side would have heard it, and strange enough that they would know that someone was using magic. Marco hoped that it was enough to unnerve the Cewri because they were cut off from retreat and their reinforcements. He was tempted to look, but he knew what he would see. There would just be rocks as far as he could see. It was far better to focus on Bertholdt and the Cewri in front of him.

He stepped away from the rock, watching Bertholdt carefully. In the time it had taken him the make the rocks fall Bertholdt had changed completely. He was no longer the nervous man that Marco was used to, there was a bit of steel in his backbone and recognition.

Bertholdt nodded at him, drawing his sword slowly. “So it was you.”

Marco shrugged hopelessly. There was no point in denying it. If the three of them had been traitors all along, spying on the workings of Trost, then they would have noticed Jean’s luck. Everyone else had just thought that Marco lived a charmed life, there were only a few people in the castle that had known about the magic. If Bertholdt hadn’t figured it out before, there was no point in hiding it now.

He looked between Bertholdt’s sword and the army that was starting to rush up the path. Marco licked his lips, raising his left hand threateningly. It was nothing compared to the swords and battle axes that were coming towards him, but at least Bertholdt looked wary. He nodded, focusing on Bertholdt. “Last chance, turn around and leave.”

“I can’t.”

Marco nodded, spreading his fingers slightly as he described an arc with his hand. “I’m sorry then.” When Bertholdt didn’t answer, he let the magic flow, feeling the warmth of the fire he was calling rush through his body. “Forbearnan.”

* * *

Jean stumbled back to Buchwald’s side, leaning against the horse as he caught his breath. His left arm tingled uncomfortably from catching all the blows of battle axes, hammers and swords that had come his way. He was sure that his own sword was dull from all the hacking and slashing he had been dong. But a sword was easy enough to fix, it was everything else that he worried about.

He glanced around at the battlefield, watching as injured soldiers were carried back towards the tent. It would be hell getting them up the hill and over to the tents. It would have been easier if they had managed to stay on the plains above, but Queen Rita had been eager to chase after the Cewri when they started to draw away. Jean had been more than happy to stay where he was because Erwin had had a plan, but he hadn’t been able to hold, not when Queen Rita’s lines had started to fail.

He moved his gaze back to the opposite set of hills, frowning at the clean fall of rocks that crowned them. He had seen the rocks upright before, but they had all suddenly fallen towards the end of the battle. There was no other reason but magic, but Jean hadn’t been able to spot the sorcerer. By the way that they had reacted, the Cewri hadn’t been waiting for that either. In fact, the army had fallen apart not long afterward. It was obvious that their plan had failed, but that just left Jean wondering where the reinforcements had gone.

Jean took a step forward, reaching out in a blind panic as he felt the word twist strangely around him. He felt his fingers scrape over Buchwald’s neck, but he couldn’t feel the horse’s coat under them. It was almost like Buchwald wasn’t there. Jean wasn’t even sure that he was there. He felt like he was fading away, slipping into the background. His fingers slipped from the horse’s neck as he pitched forward.

He thought he heard someone shout, but he wasn’t sure if it was his name or someone else. Everyone was shouting at something, either for help or searching for the people left alive. It could be anyone.

He felt arms around him, Jean leaning into them gratefully. It felt good to have something solid around him and supporting his weight. He didn’t feel like he was about to drift off.

As quickly as the feeling of being insubstantial had come, it was gone.

Jean jerked upright, glancing around the battlefield as he tried to right himself. Things felt different, sharper than they should. He shook his head, glancing at the person that had caught him.

Connie gave him a shaky nod in return, the man pulling his arm away. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” Jean took a deep breath, groaning when he felt his armor press against him with the motion. Now that it was over, all he wanted to do was peel himself out of the armor and take a long bath. But he couldn’t do that until he had checked in with his captains and made sure that it wasn’t a false lull in the battle. That didn’t stop him from stripping a gauntlet from his hand and rubbing his face.

He looked at the gauntlet in his hands before he secured it to Buchwald’s saddle. Jean started to pull the second one off as he turned back to Connie. “Any news?”

Connie shrugged and glanced back towards the tents. “I’ve been helping bring people back. Captain Erwin is there, but one of his arms isn’t. Almost all of Captain Shadis’ command is gone, we’re just picking bodies up off the field. We’re organizing a place to burn the bodies.”

Jean grunted as an answer, trying not to think about the funeral pyres that would follow. He would have to be there for that, it was what he owed the men and women who had fought for him. He might as well wait for a bath until afterward, he would have to wash the sweat from the battle and the ash from the pyres off of him.

He double checked that his gauntlets were secure before grabbing Buchwald’s reins. The horse tossed his head, Jean ignoring him in favor of paying attention to Connie. “What else?”

Connie shrugged, trudging wearily along with Jean. “I think Sasha went up to the wall up there to figure out what happened or if there’s something on the other side. She should be back soon.”

“Did she go alone?”

Connie shook his head. “She took half of the archers. The other half is watching over the Cewri who surrendered.”

“Are we going to get Eren to talk to them?”

“As soon as he calms down. He’s still a little…” Connie made a vague motion with his hands, but Jean understood.

Something always happened to Eren when he fought. Jean suspected that it had something to do with magic, but he ignored it. Eren’s family had escaped from Shinganshina when the Cewri had first rushed in to take it over. It was more likely that Eren was cursed than using magic. It didn’t matter just as long as Eren could keep himself under control. He would leave Eren to Mikasa until the two of them were ready to come back.

Jean sighed and glanced over at their tents, jerking Buchwald to a stop when he noticed a familiar figure standing on the hill. “Armin?”

“Oh yeah.” Connie paused to wave at Armin, getting a wave in return. “They came just before Queen Rita’s banner fell.”

“All of them?”

“I saw all of them. I don’t know where they’ve gone now.” Connie rubbed at the back of his neck. “Hange should still be back there. Something happened to her. I haven’t gotten the time to stop and talk.”

Jean nodded. It wasn’t a full report, but he was sure that it would get it once everything had been taken care of. That didn’t stop him from wondering what had happened. There had obviously been a trap, but it hadn’t been carried through. He had seen that Queen Rita’s banner had fallen, but he wasn’t sure what had happened to her. He didn’t know what had happened to Historia since she had been on the other side of Queen Rita’s lines.

Most importantly, he wanted to know where Marco was. If Armin and Hange had gotten back from their mission then Marco should have been back too. He had ignored the way that Marco had been sulking around the castle because there had been more important things to focus on, like the threats that Rod Reiss had been making since he had put Historia on the throne and the rumors that Zeke had been moving through the country with all the Cewri of fighting age.

He glanced over at Connie, watching the man carefully. He didn’t get the change to ask his question, Connie raising one shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know where Marco is. He must have slipped off to find you.”

“He never did.”

“It was a mess out there.”

Jean took the excuse with a nod. It _had_ been a mess out on the field. What communication that they had managed had quickly broken down as they had been forced into the depression between the hills. The Cewri had managed to break them up into little groups far more efficiently than Jean had ever imagined. He didn’t know whether to blame his own inexperience or what Rod Reiss had been doing with them. After all, Rod had been the one who had handed over Shinganshina with a smile and a future promise of war.

He clenched his hand into a fist, holding it there until he finally relaxed. Rod didn’t matter any longer, Armin and Hange had finished him off before he could do any more harm. Most of the Cewri were dead on the ground around him. There couldn’t be that many more wandering around, and they certainly wouldn’t be willing to start another war. At least they could take their time and regroup before dealing with that problem.

He grunted as Buchwald nudged him, Jean absently reaching back to pat the bay. The horse probably just wanted to go back to the others and rest; Jean could understand that impulse. But he needed the horse for a little while longer, he didn’t think he was up for walking all over the field, not when he could be needed in three places at once.

The very thought made him fell more tired, Jean leaning heavily against Buchwald as he tried to gather himself again. He didn’t feel as faint as he had when Connie had first come over, but things still felt strange. Something was out of place, but he couldn’t quite figure out what.

Jean scanned over the ruined landscape, standing up straight as he saw a horse come galloping over towards them. He groped for his sword, stopping the motion when he recognized the longbow that was awkwardly strapped across the rider’s back. He raised a hand in welcome as Sasha pulled her horse up.

She didn’t bother to dismount, Sasha already spinning her horse back around towards the far hills. “There’s something you need to see.”

Jean didn’t wait for her to say anything else. He hauled himself up onto Buchwald’s back, reaching out for Connie’s hand only to find that he was already hopping up behind Sasha. Connie looked pleased as he snuggled close to her back, holding his head carefully back so the bow wouldn’t slap against him. Jean shot him a glare before kicking Buchwald forward. The stallion snorted but responded, breaking into a canter that easily kept up with Sasha’s bay.

Sasha didn’t look over at him, her gaze focused on the wall of rocks on the far hill. She kept quiet until they had moved to the side of the battlefield, no longer having to pay attention to their horses as they jumped and stepped awkwardly over the bodies of the dead. When she did speak, it was barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of the horses’ hooves. “There’s something weird up there.”

“Understatement.”

Connie was quickly silenced with an elbow to his gut. Sasha glanced over at Jean before jerking her head to a lower part of the fallen rocks. “We’ll have to leave the horses there, they won’t be able to go through any other way. There’s a ravine.”

“What did you see?”

Sasha shook her head. “I only got a quick look. Eren and Mikasa are scouting the area out.”

Jean was surprised that Eren was ready to be among people again, but he kept his mouth shut. It was obvious that something had frightened Sasha, especially if she wasn’t going to let Connie joke.

He fixed his gaze on the low part of the rocks, wishing all the more for Marco. The man seemed to have a knack for knowing about weird things. Jean was sure that it was just a matter of reading all the books that Grisha Jaeger gave to him and just listening. Anyone would tell Marco anything. Then man would be a perfect spy, if he would have been able to handle the work. Then again, Jean was sure that they wouldn’t be needing spies any longer. The alliances that had quickly been forged for this battle might have been shaky, but Jean wasn’t going to let them fray away. He’d had enough of worrying if someone would come when he called.

Buchwald skittered sideways as they approached the rocks, Jean resting a hand on the horse’s neck. That didn’t seem to calm Buchwald like it usually did, and it didn’t take long for Jean to figure out why.

The wind shifted, bringing the smell of burning flesh. For a moment, Jean thought that the funeral pyres had already been started, although he couldn’t figure out why they would have hauled the bodies all the way over the wall.

Buchwald shied again, Jean yanking irritably on the reins. He slid off the horse’s back the next moment, glancing at the high strung horse before shoving the reins into a fissure in the rocks. Jean didn’t think that it would hold Buchwald long, and he would probably be chasing after Buchwald as soon as he was done. Then again, there was probably some younger soldier that Jean could set to the job. He would be mobbed as soon as he got back to the camp.

He walked over to the low part of the wall, briefly envious that Sasha didn’t seem to have the same problem with her mare. Then again, her horse was unflappable, it had to be with all the things Sasha did on its back. Buchwald had to be high strung, always ready to lash out.

Jean shook the thoughts out of his head, focusing on the low part of the wall. His heart sunk when he saw that Connie had already started scrambling up it. Jean glanced down at his armor before shrugging. It would take longer to strip himself of the armor than it would take him to climb. Besides, he had no idea what was going on the other side of the rocks. Jean grabbed onto the first handhold that he could find, gritting his teeth before starting to haul himself up.

As imposing as the impromptu wall was, it wasn’t hard to climb. The rocks had been weathered while they had been standing and they had all been broken by a great force, creating plenty of handholds. The only problem was the drag of his armor, but Jean had trained with it enough that it was barely a bother. He would just have to be careful not to slip because he wouldn’t be able to catch himself then.

He was the last over the top of the rock fall, Sasha and Connie already sitting on the top. Jean spared a glance for them before looking down.

His eyes widened as he saw the destruction below him.

The ravine floor was carpeted with bodies, some of them still smoking. Jean followed the line of bodies up the rough slope, the one way up the ravine. The slope hit the top of the hill, creating a flat spot. Distantly, Jean noticed that it would be the perfect gathering spot. An army could spread out along the line of hills from there to prevent themselves from getting stuck on the thin slope. With how distracted they would have been in the depression below the hills Jean was sure that he wouldn’t have seen them before their charge had started. The move into the bowl would have been a trap, but someone had spotted it long before it had become a problem.

Jean practically slid down the other side of the wall, landing awkwardly. He reeled forward, Jean cursing as he rocked himself backward. He caught himself against the rock face, trying to breathe without taking in the stench of burning flesh. It was impossible now that he was close to the bodies. He raised a hand to his nose, pressing it against his armor instead. The sharp tang of iron and polish was a little better, but it didn’t completely block out the smell, not when he was covered in blood himself.

He grimaced and started along the edge of the hills, heading for where he saw Eren and Mikasa scouring among the dead bodies. Eren still looked a little off, especially in the way he moved. It was like he was a wild animal caged in a human body. Jean had never gotten the full reason for why Eren went off, nor would Grisha tell him what the berserkers really were. Jean assumed that there was some magic in it, but he was willing not to ask. As long as Eren didn’t become a problem, he would let him do as he pleased. It would be worse to lose a good fighter, especially with all of the dead soldiers on the other side of the rocks.

Mikasa was the first to look when they approached. She inclined her head to Jean before she crouched behind one of the bodies. She tugged something free, holding it up for him a moment later. Jean shivered at the image of a blood red man on it. “Zeke. Where is he?”

Mikasa shook her head and let the tattered banner fall to the ground. She went back to picking through the bodies, a look of intense concentration on her face. Jean left her to it, preferring to go talk to Eren. It had been a few years since Mikasa had been able to turn him into a stuttering wreck, but he still couldn’t quite figure her out. There were moments when he felt that he was close to understanding her, and then they were gone.

He sidled up to Eren, nodding at him and he examined the bodies on the ground. The closer to the top of the hill they were, the more varied their wounds were. The ones that were burned were nearly a crisp and there were ones with fatal wounds. It had been a tough battle. Jean looked down at the ground, frowning at what he saw there. It had been a tough battle, but it looked like there had been only one defender. The tracks were muddled, but the same boot with the same crack in the sole kept retreating back to the rocks.

Jean edged around the tracks to look at the wall, pressing his hand to it beside splashes of blood and a tuft of hair that had gotten caught in the rocks. He reached out to touch the hair, jerking his hand back before he got close.

It was wrong somehow, all of it. The only thing right about the whole place was the fact that he was standing there.

He reached up to rub the armor over his heart, soothing an ache that wasn’t really there. He turned to look at the rest of the space, Jean frowning when he saw the hunk of crystal that was practically buried under the rock fall. He joined Eren in crouching by it, hesitantly reaching out to touch the crystal.

Eren shot him a quick look before he dropped down to sit in the dirt, rocking forward to rest his head in his hands. “It’s Annie.”

“What?” Jean looked forward, able to just barely see Annie’s face through the distortion in the crystal. As far as he could tell, she looked like she was asleep. Jean didn’t know if it was because she had been ready for what had happened to her or if she was really day. He glanced back over at where the rocks had crushed the crystal from her lower back down. Jean winced and looked back at Eren, surprised when his friend just gestured towards two other bodies.

“Reiner and Bertholdt too.”

Jean shifted, clamping a hand over his mouth when he saw the remains of Reiner’s body. The man’s head had been nearly blown off. Jean couldn’t see Reiner had any other wounds because Bertholdt’s body was draped over him. Bertholdt had suffered from multiple stab wounds, a sword still buried in the back of his neck. Jean noted with morbid curiosity that it went clean through Bertholdt’s neck, through Reiner and into the ground.

He slumped back against Annie’s crystal, taking in the scene around him in disbelieve. “What happened?”

“That’s not the important question.” He looked up at Sasha, watching as she prowled along the wall. She poked around the blood stains before plucking the hairs out of the rocks. Jean opened his mouth to tell her not to, but he quickly snapped it shut. Sasha rolled the hair around between her fingers before letting it drop to the ground. “The question is how? And why?”

“Why?” Jean felt like Sasha was having a different conversation to him. He wanted to order her to talk straight, but he couldn’t quite gather the mental power to say the right words.

Mikasa looked up from where she was turning over a lone arm, gently settling the fingers in place with care. “And how?”

Sasha nodded, Jean looking helplessly between the two girls. “How this happened and why these three were up here.”

“We could ask the other Cewri.” Connie was the one who piped up with the suggestion, Jean glad for it. At least that sounded like sense instead of dealing with things that always seemed to go above his head. “They should be able to tell us what Zeke was planning.”

Jean expected Mikasa and Sasha to push his idea away. Instead, Mikasa and Eren exchanged a long look as Sasha nodded. Jean was surprised when Eren shot him a pitying glance before getting up from out of his crouch. That seemed to be the signal for Mikasa to fall in with her brother, the two of them walking back to the low part of the wall.

He watched them go, only turning his attention back to the other two when he felt a hand on his shoulder. When he looked up, Sasha was looking down at him with worry. “Jean?”

He shook his head, accepting Sasha’s other hand to pull him to his feet. “I’m just tired. And we’re nowhere near done.”

Sasha gave him a solemn nod, the look so different from the way she usually looked. She gave the bodies on the hilltop one last look before she shivered and started walking away. Connie was quick to fall in behind her, leaving Jean behind to look at the bodies strewn around. He shivered, not sure if it was because of the sight of so many people dead.

Or because he had the horrible feeling that it should have been him.

* * *

_Their attention was bright – bright like when Jean held Dyrnwyn – and angry. Angry like he had been when he had been told what was expected of him. He got the feeling that all of their attention was focusing on him, but he didn’t flinch back from it, not even when it became all consuming._

_“What have you done?”_

_“I couldn’t. I’m sorry. I couldn’t.”_

_“Destiny demands this and you can’t change it.”_

_“I understand. I’m asking for an exchange.”_

_There was silence, which meant that they were listening._

_“We are the same. The exchange is equal.”_

_“It is not.”_

_“A life for a life.”_

_“It’s not that simple.”_

_“It is. That’s how magic works. It’s how it always worked.”_

_“No. Someone else.”_

_“No. This isn’t an offer. It’s a demand.”_

_“You said ask.”_

_“I was being polite.”_

_They fell into silence again before he felt something that could have been a sigh. “This is going to be difficult.”_

_“You can’t have him, but you can have me. We’re two sides of the same coin.”_

_The silence went on for so long that he thought that they were done with him. He drifted for what felt like forever before he felt them turn their attention back to him. “The exchange will be honored.”_

* * *

Ymir’s face was the first thing he saw when he woke up. It was far too close and blurry, but it was familiar. After seeing nothing but the enemy’s face charging at him, it was a welcome sight.

Marco smiled at her and let himself loll back against whatever he was propped against, feeling sleep start to tug on him again. He let his eyes fall close, feeling one eyelid flick but not respond. He didn’t have time to think about it, not when he was sinking back into sleep.

He wasn’t allowed to stay there long, Marco gasping as he was shaken awake.

The motion woke up a range of pain along his body, but it was mostly focused on his right side. Marco gasped, tipping his head back as he weakly tried to wiggle out of Ymir’s hold on him. He tried to shout at her to stop, but the sound came out more like a croak.

As small as the sound was it seemed to be enough to convince Ymir. She gave him a long look before sitting back, still watching him carefully.

Marco returned the favor, licking his limps as he tried to spur his tired mind into forming words. It felt like ages before he finally managed it. “Ymir?”

“So you haven’t lost all of your wits. Good.”

“What am I doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same question.”

Marco screwed up his face in a frown, feeling the expression tug on aching skin. He let his face fall back into a neutral expression, turning his head to try and get vision back in his right eye. He gave up after a while, trying to glare at her with only one eye. “Where am I?”

That question seemed to be more acceptable to Ymir. She nodded and crossed her legs. “In some forest. I think we’re closer to Trost than to Mitras. Prochoros wasn’t too sure.”

“What-”

“Happened? You’ll have to tell me that. All I know is that I was just staying well out of the way and distracting myself when I was practically knocked off my feet from shock. It felt like I was being thrown. Next think I know Prochoros is shouting that he’s being summoned and we’re flying off to that damned place.” Ymir reached over, Marco having to tip his head to see the fire that she was poking angrily at. When stabbing at the pieces of wood didn’t seem to calm her she turned her stick over to Marco, not seeming to care that the end was still smoking. “I told you I wanted to stay away from all of that, for Historia’s sake.”

Marco licked his lips, amazed that they managed to hurt to. He had to drag his mind back as it drifted to all the other places that he hurt, trying to ignore the suggestion that sleep would take it all away. All he had to do was sleep and there would be no more pain. He bit his lip, using that shock to remind him to keep going. If he slept he wouldn’t get his answers, or Ymir would shake him awake again.

He couldn’t remember calling on the dragon, but he wouldn’t have been with Ymir if he hadn’t. She had made it perfectly clear that she was going to make sure Historia lived, even if she put everything else in jeopardy.

He bit his lip again, just to make sure that he wouldn’t be drifting off. When he was sure of himself, he looked back up at Ymir. “I didn’t mean to call him. I meant Oighrig.”

“She was already there and doing a number on them. But she started screaming when we tried to leave. She wanted to get you out of there, but she’s not big enough to lift you up.”

“Where is she now?”

“Off eating and licking her wounds. She won’t come near while Prochoros is around. I think she plans on chasing the rest of the Cewri all the way back to Shinganshina.”

“You’re not going to stop her?”

That got a feral grin from Ymir. She reached back into her bag, rooting around before pulling out a golden torc that was still splattered with blood. She waved it, Marco getting lost in the glitter that it threw off in the firelight. He shook his head gently, dragging his gaze back up to Ymir’s eyes.

She waved the torc one more time before sitting back against a log. “Why? I need the Cewri all in one place when I present my wedding gift to Historia.”

He frowned at the golden torc, remembering it sitting around the neck of a huge man that had laughed as he had charged up the hill towards him. Marco remembered the flash of his war axe, how it had cut through his arm. And then…a roar. He couldn’t remember if it had been Oighrig or Prochoros, but he guessed that it didn’t matter. “Zeke?”

Ymir nodded, slipping the torc back into her bag. “And Bertholdt.”

Marco expected to hear a hint of remorse, but there was nothing. At least that was better than pride. Ymir just stated it like she was listing off what she had for breakfast.

She pulled her legs up to her chest, tapping her fingers restlessly against her legs before she looked at him. “What were _you_ doing there?”

“I was looking for Jean.”

“He wasn’t there.”

“I know.”

“He wouldn’t have been there for a while.”

“I know.”

“He’s alive because of this, but I think you know that too.” Ymir stared into the fire for a moment before she turned to glare at him. “So what the hell did you think you were doing?”

Marco closed his eyes, not caring if Ymir thought that he was falling asleep. He needed to stop being distracted by all the little things in the world. They were all sharper for some reason, like they were more real that he was. There was a reason for that, something that was just out of his reach. The reason for that would have to wait until he answered Ymir’s question.

He opened his one good eye, biting back on a cough. “I was saving Jean.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Prochoros said that were two sides of the same coin.”

“Dragon nonsense.”

Marco raised a shoulder in a shrug, hissing at the pain the moved caused him. “But you don’t accept a coin according to what side you’re given, right? Why should fate be any different? As long as it gets what it’s looking for…”

Ymir stood up, Marco surprised by her sudden anger. He shifted, ready to attempt to get up to face her on even ground, but he felt too off balance. He had a quick flash of his right hand spinning away from his body as the battle axe sliced through skin and bone. Marco shivered and remained sitting, letting Ymir loom over him.

She clenched her fists, Marco surprised when she didn’t hit him. She swayed in place for a moment before uncurling once finger to point at him. “Don’t let it be Historia. I will kill Jean myself if it come to that.”

Marco shook his head. “Don’t worry. It won’t be.”

That seemed to calm Ymir enough to get her to sit down again. She slumped by the fire, going back to stabbing it with her stick. Marco let her work out her anger for a few moment more before he shifted. “How bad is it?”

Ymir looked at him out of the corner of her eye. For a moment, it looked like she considered lying, then she shook her head. “You’re fucked up. Your right arm is gone, and that was the cleanest of the bunch. I had to pop your right eye out because it was practically gone anyway. Cuts and more cuts up and down. And probably internal bleeding. Prochoros is the one looked at that, but I couldn’t convince him to stay for long. Apparently you’re all wrong.”

Marco nodded. He had expected the last statement. He could feel that everything was off, but that would be fixed soon enough. It was the long list of injuries that surprised him. He had thought it would be cleaner. Jean’s death had been cleaner. But that’s what he got for fighting against everything he had been told.

He closed his eyes, exhausted from the short talk. He desperately wanted to sleep, but there was one more favor to ask before he could. Marco curled the fingers of his one remaining hand in, digging his nails into his palm. “Ymir? I need one last favor.”

There was a long pause before she responded. “What?”

Marco sucked in a deep breath, opening his eye to fix her with the best serious look that he had left in him. “I need to see Jean.”

* * *

The table in the great hall was almost hidden under all the maps and reports. One of the Kirstein banners had been torn down to be replaced by the best map that he, Historia and Pixis had of the country. Pins and pieces of string were strewn across it, the colors of the string marking out the boundaries of the kingdoms and the movement of their enemies according to the reports. Jean would have preferred to have the meetings in somewhere more private and where they wouldn’t have to take down the map after each one, but it was the only place that they could easily fit all the people they needed as well as the two cots they needed. Neither Captain Erwin nor Hange would allow themselves to be left out.

He leaned back in his chair, feeling a headache brewing. There always seemed to be one, along with a strange tension in his skin. Jean rubbed his arm, trying to chase the feeling away. Even then, he wasn’t sure it wasn’t imagined.

He hadn’t been sleeping well, working late into the night to gather all the information that had come in through the day and to keep abreast of the problems that had come with the remove to Trost.

With the death of Queen Rita, the kingdom of Quinta was left without a leader. Captain Pixis had sent back four of his trusted subordinates to hold the country until things could be sorted out, but the man had already expressed his wish not to be put in charge of the country and there was no royal line to follow. They had died out before Queen Rita had taken the throne and she had ascended after a lengthy civil war that Jean’s father had put an end to. Geoffroi had been the one to support Rita’s claim to the throne, and it was falling to Jean to support a replacement, but he hadn’t paid much attention to what had been going on in Quinta, he had been too worried about what was going on in Trost.

There were also the Cewri to worry about. None of the reports about them made sense. Some said that they were rushing back to Shinganshina. Those that had already gotten back to the city were already fleeing to the ocean to sail back to wherever they had first come from. Other reports said that they were massing somewhere in the Myrkviðr Forest and that they were going to elect a new leader. The only good part about that news was that it meant that Zeke was dead. They had found the remains of his body among the Cewri reinforcements.

Jean tried not to think about the reports that mentioned Reiner, Bertholdt and Annie. All of them agreed on the truth, the three of them had been working for the Cewri since they had come to Trost. They had been watching and waiting for the right moment to help Zeke push into the city to start his bid to control all of the kingdoms. They had been behind the grand attack right after Geoffroi had died. They had been on the hill to help guide Zeke and the rest of the Cewri in. Jean had trained with them, laughed with them and trusted them, and they had been traitors.

He clenched his hand into a fist, lowering his eyes to stare at the reports. The words swam in front of his eyes, Jean not bothering to try and read what they said. They were just endless nightmares on paper, and he was getting enough of them by night. Jean couldn’t remember a night that he hadn’t woken up screaming from a dream that Bertholdt, Annie or Reiner had stabbed him up on that hill top.

“Your highness?”

Jean jerked his attention to where Armin was sitting beside him. For a moment, he thought that Armin was going to reach out to touch him, but protocol made Armin pull his hand away. Armin’s gaze moved over to where Grisha Jaeger was waiting by the wall, probably wondering if he should call the physician over. Jean gave a small shake of his head before looking at the rest of the impromptu council.

They all looked as exhausted as he felt. Eren looked like he was asleep at the table, although Jean knew that Mikasa wouldn’t allow him to sleep through anything important. On Eren’s right, Levi sat in the last chair before the two camp beds were pulled up to the table, trying to look like he wasn’t in pain from his broken ankle. Captain Erwin and Hange were next, both of them equally as semi-conscious, which meant that Jean would have to wrap up the meeting soon to give them an hour and a half to nap. The rest of them could go for hours, theoretically. Jean doubted that he or Historia would last much longer. The only one who looked just as chipper as the day he had walked into Trost was Pixis, and the man was practically ancient.

Jean rubbed his forehead and sat back in his chair, trying to pull his attention to the matters at hand. “The bodies?”

“The last are being burned.” Grisha was the one who spoke up, the man leaning away from the wall. “Barring any complications, everyone else should survive.”

“And the stragglers?”

“Sasha and Connie are leading the teams to bring them back as well as scouting out what the state of the country is in.”

Jean nodded, glancing over at Captain Pixis. He knew the man would ask about the Cewri with the same patience he had been talking about them since they had come back. They had beat them once, but that wasn’t a guarantee that the Cewri would stop attacking. It was more likely that they would retreat to lick their wounds before coming for them again. It would be better to kill the Cewri that were still wandering before turning on Shinganshina, but Jean knew that his men wouldn’t be up for it. The armies from Mitras or Quinta weren’t in much better condition and the army from Stohess was probably completely decimated from when Zeke had crashed through the kingdom.

That was another problem that they would have to tackle, what to do about the kingdom of Stohess now that King Fritz was missing and presumed dead. There were bound to be Cewri rushing back to the city, especially since they had used it as a base for their invasion.

The thought of another kingdom to sort out made him want to collapse against the table. It was already too much between him and Historia, especially since they still had to run their own kingdoms. But neither of them dared ignore the situation as it was. The soldiers that Jean had patrolling the walls of Trost were always coming back with the rumors that were infecting the lower town.

Everyone was ready for the Cewri to come rushing down on them. The soldiers had already turned away some people who had rushed to the castle in fear, dragging Jean out of the meetings to speak to them. He doubted that the Cewri would come to Trost, not with how badly they had been beaten. Besides, the Cewri would have to march through Quinta and the expanses of territory that they hadn’t settled in when they had taken Shinganshina, but Jean doubted that the people cared about that. They heard about marauding warriors and that was all they needed to know.

Geoffroi had always said that the people had a long memory, longer than any of the monarchs did. His father had always cautioned him to listen to the people, which was why he had Sasha and Connie running patrols to see what they could find. As long as they came back with more reports about the Cewri heading away from them, things would be fine.

“Your highness?”

Jean jerked his head up, staring at Captain Pixis and the soldiers that he had brought with them. For a moment, he thought that he had fallen asleep, but he couldn’t have. He remembered exactly what they had been talking about. They had been discussing the reports that Jean felt like they had just been discussing over and over again. They were at an impasse, at least until someone came back with more news, which wouldn’t be for another few days. They would be left with playing politics until the next batch of news.

The very thought exhausted him. Jean felt like he had been through the entire list of possible nobles to raise to the throne at least twice. On Pixis’ insistence, they had been through more of the people who lived in Quinta, but nothing seemed to please the delegation. Jean understood that the kingdom had been through various civil wars and various attacks by roving enemies, the Cewri were just the most recent problem.

His name kept coming up, which made Jean’s heart beat faster. He was barely hanging onto his kingdom, he didn’t want to be in charge of another one, no matter how much the others seemed to trust him.

If Marco had been standing in with the meeting, then Jean would have never heard the end of it. As soon as the meeting had adjourned, Marco would have started to try and convince him. Marco had always had a better of opinion of Jean than Jean had for himself. If Marco had been there, Jean would have already been halfway convinced to take the offer of Quinta. But Marco wasn’t with them, and Jean felt his absence keenly. It didn’t matter that Marco was just a servant; he had a level head and was good at keeping a group working together. Jean was sure that Marco was half the reason that Trost hadn’t fallen apart when he had taken the throne.

He was Jean’s friend, his luck. And he was missing.

Jean curled the hand he had under the table into a fist, breathing out slowly. That was the other reason he sent out patrols as fast as he could, because Marco hadn’t come back.

Armin had been the last one to see him and he swore that Marco had come with them to the Camlann. Levi and Hange did too, although Jean was hesitant to accept Hange’s word on anything that had happened that day. With the pain from her dislocated shoulder and hip, Jean wasn’t sure that she had been seeing anything useful.

He glanced over at the two injured soldiers, his gaze lingering on the bandage over Erwin’s shoulder. He didn’t get long to linger over his captain’s injury.

Levi stood up, bracing himself against the chair and the table. He nodded at all of them, the closest to a bow he could get. “Call me when there’s another report. They’re done here.”

The nod turned into a subtle motion towards Erwin and Hange. Jean followed the motion, sighing when he realized that Hange had drifted off to sleep. Erwin was at least trying to look like he was awake, but he was obviously drooping.

Jean rocked back in his seat and nodded at Levi. They were all done at this point, at least until they could decide on something concrete. “Fine. The patrol should be back after dinner. We’ll reconvene then.”

He was sure that he didn’t imagine the relieved look on everyone’s faces, but he pretended to ignore it. He just slumped back in his chair as his knights practically rushed out of the room. They all had other duties to attend to, probably more important than listening to him, Historia and a group of would-be monarchs argue over what to do with kingdoms. Jean barely wanted to be there, he wanted to be out on patrol, because then he would be doing something.

Jean drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair, looking up when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Historia stood behind him, an exhausted smile on her face. She looked nothing like the young girl that had been rushing around the castle, trying to keep herself hidden or the girl who had held her ground with the rest of her knights. Jean was sure that she should have looked like a queen, but she just looked as tired as he felt.

She squeezed his shoulder before trailing out after the others. Jean watched her walk out of the door before closing his eyes, just listening as Pixis and his retinue followed after her.

He supposed that Historia was just trying to show that she sympathized with him. Out of all of his friends, she was the only one who knew how it felt to have someone who meant so much disappear. As far as Jean knew, Ymir was still missing, she had been since Bertholdt and Reiner had briefly disappeared. The knowledge that she had disappeared with traitors had to be wearing on her. None of the Cewri had been able to say if Ymir had been working with the other three, but it wouldn’t be a stretch to lump her in with the rest. Jean was close to coming to that conclusion for lack of a better explanation, but he was sure that Historia would fight that assumption until the end. Historia was the only one who really knew Ymir in the end, so she was the only one who could judge her.

Jean sighed and pushed himself out of his chair, ignoring the soft sounds of talking from beside him. Grisha was just checking on his patients. Hange and Erwin would be remaining in the great hall until it was time to close the conference for the day, it was just easier. They would be taken back to their beds at the same time as the maps and reports were taken away to be locked up.

He turned his attention to the map that had been hammered into the wall, trailing his fingers over the strings of the Cewri movement, but he wasn’t really seeing them. His focus was on the place that Armin, Hange and Levi had guessed the crystal cavern had been. He let go of the strings to press his finger against the point. His finger partially covered Stohess, Jean frowning.

At least that explained why the Zeke’s band of Cewri had gone after Stohess and why the kingdom had fallen so quickly. What Rod and his knights had promised Zeke they would never find out, but the crystal caves had been important. It was also the last place that Jean had seen Marco.

He traced his finger across the map until he reached Camlann. He tapped his finger there for a moment, considering the place that Armin said that Marco had gotten to. Jean didn’t dare look down to see the distance to Trost, he didn’t want the reminder of the territory that his patrols still had to search. He did reach out to touch the white string that marked the last areas of the search for Marco. He hadn’t even needed to ask his patrols to look out for the man, they had done it automatically. But there was still no news.

Jean pushed away from the map and trudged towards the door. He reached up to absently rub his chest, his mind already moving to the list of things that he still had to do. There were hundreds of things that he needed to do, but all he wanted to do was sleep. Jean knew that he would do nothing but toss and turn in his bed. It was too big without Marco and there was nothing waiting for him but nightmares.

He clutched at the fabric over his heart, sure that he felt the phantom pain of a wound that he had never gotten. For a moment, the world spun around him, Jean sure that he heard three voices whispering at him.

He thought he heard them whisper his name, one he didn’t recognize and Marco’s. Jean spun to follow their voices, his world blurring around him. He stumbled to one side, feeling something catch him. Jean reached up to grab onto the person’s arms, holding them close as he squeezed his eyes shut.

The world tilted under his feet for a few minutes more before it slowly righted itself, the voices disappearing as things fell back into place. Jean didn’t risk letting go of the person until he was sure that things were truly right. Even then, he only opened one eye at a time as he craned his head back.

He felt like he was being knocked around again when he saw that Ymir was the one steadying him. He jerked himself away from her, his eyes wide as the stared at the woman. “Ymir!”

She lunged forward, Jean yelping as she slapped a hand against his mouth. Jean made a noise of disgust, glaring at her as Ymir looked around. She muttered something under her breath before pulling him over to the side of the hall. She gave him a sharp look before lifting her hand off his mouth. “Quiet.”

Jean wiped his mouth off, staring at his hand before shaking it out. He didn’t want to be quiet, but he didn’t want to have her hand over his mouth again. He shot her a glare, making sure to keep his voice down as he spoke. “What are you doing here?”

“A favor.” Ymir kept looking up and down the hall, like she was afraid that someone would find the two of them.

Jean narrowed his eyes at her behavior, suddenly awake. He was sure that it was no coincidence that Ymir had turned up now. He didn’t know if she had come to reassure them that she wasn’t a traitor, or finish the job that the others had started. Jean kept an eye on her as he reached for his sword, flinching when he realized that he hadn’t been wearing his. It was probably back in his room, thrown to one side with all of his armor. Jean didn’t think he had touched Dyrnwyn since they had come back from Camlann. All of it was rusting, like a failed summoning for Marco to return.

He took a step away from her, putting distance between them. “What favor?”

Ymir shook her head. “It’s easier to show you. Get your shit and get ready to ride.”

“Why?”

“Do you want me to explain or do you want to see this before we run out of time?”

Jean wanted to say that he wanted the explanation, but the look on her face stopped him. Whatever it was had to be important, because Ymir had come to find him over going after Historia. Out of all the people in Trost she had come after first, it had been him. It had to be important if that was the case.

He drummed his fingers against his leg before nodding, knowing that he wasn’t exactly answering her question. “Do I get to ask where we’re going?”

“No. Just grab your things and let’s go. The faster the better.” Ymir turned on her heel and started to walk back out of the castle, but she stopped herself at quickly. She swayed in place before twisted to look back at him, her expression softening slightly. “I found Marco.”

Jean stared at her in shock, watching as she walked out of the castle like she hadn’t delivered the news that he had been waiting for.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to do. It felt like the whole world was shaking around him until Jean realized that he was the only one shaking. He swallowed harshly, staring at the open doors before turning on his heel and running back towards his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Þærinne ymbcierran. Organ cristalla! - Change it here. The sound of my voice causes crystal (I cobbled this one together it might not be 100% right)   
> Intend lieg! – Fire/flame/lightning, attack!  
> Stanas ahreosaþ! - Stones, fall down!  
> Forbearnan! - Let the fire consume!


	2. The King is Dead

_They were back again, and they were impatient. At least they had stopped him from dreaming. He was tired of the strange combination of visions of a future that wouldn’t come true and fever dreams. He had to work to focus on them, a bad sign._

_“Your side of the bargain needs to be fulfilled.”_

_“Not yet.”_

_“There isn’t much time.”_

_“I know, but I have to explain this to him. I need to see him one more time.”_

_He got the feeling that at least two of them were amused. The third was angry. “Then why did you choose this.” They were silent for a moment before they spoke in unison again. “You would have seen him again.”_

_“I know.”_

_“So why?”_

_“Because I couldn’t watch him die. And because he’d do better than me. He’s meant to lead.”_

_“You’re meant to do magic. You_ are _magic.”_

_“You need him more than you need me.”_

_The voices went silent, but he could tell that they didn’t quite agree. He didn’t care. They had agreed and there was no turning back from their bargain, especially since it was a fair one._

_“Just let me see him one more time.”_

_The voices were silent, but he took that as agreement. There was nothing that they could do it about it. It was up to him to hold on long enough._

* * *

If Ymir hadn’t been leading him, Jean would have missed the small camp. As it was, Buchwald seemed more interested in continuing to gallop on. Jean hadn’t been able to take the stallion out for days and Buchwald was feeling it. He gritted his teeth and hauled back on the reins with one hand, the other hand occupied with the lead line to the mare that was following him. Llamrei wasn’t as eager as Buchwald, but she was just as unhappy with being kept behind the bay stallion.

Jean jerked the reins again, cursing when Buchwald rose a little onto his hind legs. He leaned forward to coax the stallion down, letting Buchwald jig in place. His attention wasn’t on the two horses, it was on the person bundled up by the fire.

He slid off of Buchwald’s back, stumbling over to the nearest tree and tying the two horses up. Jean was sure that the two of them would be fine, and he didn’t have the presence of mind to pay too much attention to them. If they started to misbehave, Jean was sure that Ymir would take care of them. A quick glance showed that she was walking the edge of the camp, her hand on her sword.

He left her at it, walking over to where Marco was partially propped up against a log.

He couldn’t see much of Marco, not with the blanket wrapped around him and Jean didn’t like what he could see. The right side of Marco’s face was swollen, but not so much that Jean couldn’t see the hasty stiches over where Marco’s right eye should have been. What he wanted to do was pull the blanket out from around Marco, but he didn’t dare. Some part of him didn’t want to see the rest.

Instead, he sat down beside Marco, moving slowly like he would startle the man. Jean doubted that anything could startled Marco, the man was completely asleep. That didn’t stop him from reaching out and gently cupping the uninjured side of Marco’s face. It wasn’t until his skin touched Marco’s that he could believe that his friend was real.

Jean sighed and rocked forward, tempted to just rest his forehead against Marco’s, but he didn’t dare wake the other man up. If Marco’s other injuries were as bad as the one on his face, then he needed all the rest that he could get.

He dropped his hand to Marco’s shoulder, keeping it there as he looked back at Ymir. “How?”

Ymir shrugged. “I was around.”

It wasn’t an answer, but Jean doubted that he would get anything better from her. As far as he knew, the only one to get straight answers out of her was Historia. Jean didn’t feel like picking through her words to find the real meaning, he was more than willing to focus on Marco. He squeezed Marco’s shoulder, not taking his gaze away from his friend. “How soon can we move him?”

That brought Ymir to a stop, Jean turning to look at her. She was hovering by the fire, trying to nudge it back into life. He watched as she turned the partially charred stick in her hands before shaking her head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“I don’t think leaving him out in the middle of the woods is a good idea. Grisha can see to him back at Trost.” Jean looked at her, unnerved by Ymir’s silence. He bristled at that, worry and annoyance working quickly into anger. “If you’re not going to move him, then why did you waste time coming for me when you could have gotten help?!”

“He didn’t ask for any of that. He asked for you.”

Jean was about to snap out another question when he felt Marco’s shoulder shift under his hand. He turned around to look at Marco, watching as he stretched his back slightly before stopping the motion with a hiss of pain. Even then it took Marco a while to open his eye. When he did, it focused on Jean immediately, a smile crossing his face.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Jean reached out to cup Marco’s cheek, a bit disturbed by the heat that he saw there and the fever brightness in Marco’s eye. He swallowed back his worry, trying to smile back. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“I’ve been here.”

“I can tell.” Jean looked back over his shoulder at a squeal, shaking his head as he saw Buchwald prancing away from Llamrei. The mare snorted and went back to her grazing. Jean sighed and shifted so Marco could see the two horses, wrapping an arm around Marco’s shoulders. “I brought Llamrei for you, if you feel up to riding her. If not, we can figure something out.”

Marco stared at the horses for a long time before he turned to look back at Jean with a confused look on his face. “Why?”

“Because I’m taking you back to Trost.”

“Jean-”

Jean didn’t let him continue, scooting closer to Marco. “I know Ymir’s been helping you, but staying out here isn’t safe. The Cewri are still roaming around. Besides, Grisha should probably look at your injuries.” His breath caught in his throat as Marco shook his head. “It won’t be that bad. It looks like Ymir has done all the hard work. You won’t have to do anything but lay around, I swear.”

Marco kept shaking his head, his smile still on his face. “Jean, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine!”

“Jean.”

He tensed at the steel in Marco’s voice. It was the tone that Marco used when Jean was close to crossing a line or when he wanted Jean to pay attention. It was the tone that came just before Marco dispensed a piece of good advice, no matter how much Jean wanted to hear it or not. Jean snapped his mouth shut, swallowing back the next half argument that he could come up with.

Marco eyed him carefully before leaning back against his log with a sigh. He rolled his shoulder, Jean moving slightly so Marco could free his arm from the blanket.

It slid off his other shoulder, Jean staring at the empty sleeve that dangled there. The shirt sleeve was caked with blood and dirt, but Jean doubted that mattered with the limb gone. He was tempted to yank the sleeve up to look at the bandage underneath, wanting to make sure that it was clean like Grisha always insisted they be.

A look from Marco stopped any motion, Jean keeping his hand on Marco’s good shoulder. Jean tried to keep his gaze on anywhere but Marco’s missing arm and eye, but his gaze kept straying back to them.

Marco didn’t seem to notice or mind, he just leaned into Jean’s touch. “I don’t think I can go back tonight. But tomorrow.”

Ymir made a noise of disgust, Jean shooting her an angry look. He kept himself from snapping at her, but only because Marco grabbed onto his arm. He looked back at Marco, not surprised by the stern shake of his head. Jean sighed and sat back on his heels. Snapping at Ymir would get him nowhere, she was the only one who would go out and hunt, because Jean didn’t intend to leave Marco’s side. He could keep his comments to himself for their sakes.

“Tomorrow will be fine. Ymir can ride ahead to warn them.”

“Ymir is _not_ going to ride ahead.” She stabbed her stick into the fire and left it there. “You may be a king, but you aren’t mine.”

“Ymir!”

“It’s the truth.” She made an irritated gesture at Jean, one that made Marco frown. “I’ve told you what I’m going to do. And you should know better than to make promises that you can’t keep, Marco.”

Jean saw the look of hurt that flashed across Marco’s face, quickly giving up his resolution to keep quiet in the face of that. He got to his feet and spun to face Ymir, his hands balled into fists. “Why don’t you just shut up?”

A look of shock passed over Ymir’s face, Jean sure that he had shut her up. She remained silent for a moment more before throwing back her head and laughing. Ymir made a dismissive motion at the two of them as she walked off into the woods, still laughing as she disappeared.

Jean glared after her, fully expecting to hear the sound of hoof beats. It was hard to tell if Ymir was mad or not, but he wouldn’t put it past her to just ride away. He was tempted to shout at her to stay gone and make it an order, but he didn’t want to leave Marco’s side.

He looked down at Marco, feeling sheepish in the face of the half annoyed, half fond look on Marco’s face.

Marco reached up to tug on his sleeve, Jean letting the motion guide him back into a crouch. He steadied himself with one hand on the ground, looking into Marco’s eye. Marco just shook his head. “You shouldn’t push her. I owe her a lot.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”

“It _does_ matter. It matters a lot because I don’t…I won’t…” Marco stumbled over his words for a moment before shaking his head. He tightened his hold on Jean’s sleeve, Jean looking down as he felt Marco’s hand shake. “She’s kept my secrets.”

“And I haven’t?”

“Jean, that’s not it. This is something bigger.”

“Bigger than anything you’ve trusted me with?”

Marco shook his head. “Jean, I need you to listen to me.”

“I am. And all I’m hearing is that you don’t trust me.”

“I trust you. I trust you with my life.”

“Then so do I.”

“You’re not getting it!” Jean rocked back as Marco shouted. There had only been a few times that Marco had raised his voice to him, and they had all been for important reasons. But it was still a shock because Marco was usually so easy going. He licked his lips, staring at his friend as Marco dropped his hand away from his sleeve.

Marco pushed himself upright, giving Jean a quick look before shaking his head. “Just _listen_ because I don’t have the time to tell you twice.

“There are things I couldn’t tell you, even though I tried many times. I wanted to because it would have made this all so easier, but it would have gotten me killed.”

“No-”

“Yes. Because you wouldn’t understand. What I am is _illegal_ , Jean, and you would have hanged me without a second thought.”

Jean shook his head, trying to force a laugh out of his throat. Nothing Marco was saying was making sense. He offered Marco a shaky smile. “Come on, it’s not illegal. There are plenty of people like that. Kings too. Apparently my great, great grandfather had a consort for his reign instead of a queen and no one even cared. And when has any of that stopped me from-”

He didn’t get the chance to finish, Jean leaning back as Marco threw his hand out towards the fire. “Forbearnan!”

Jean saw Marco’s eyes flash gold just before he felt an incredible heat along his back. He yelped and scooted back from the fire, watching as it flared far higher than natural. He heard the horses scream in fear, but the sound was strangely distant when compared to the crackle of the fire.

The flames dances for a moment before calming again, lapping weakly at the remains of the wood. Jean watched them carefully, fully expecting them to reach out for him. He kept a close watch on the fire until it died down, only then turning to look at Marco.

His friend was still slumped against the log, but there was something dangerous about him now, something that Jean was surprised that he had never noticed before. He had seen Marco with a sword before but, somehow, he looked more dangerous unarmed and badly injured.

Jean scooted away from Marco, watching as his friend curled his fingers back towards his palm. He waited for Marco to say anything, the silence dragging between them. It made him want to scream or yell, because he needed an explanation for what just happened, but he wanted to let Marco explain himself. He had always trusted Marco before, and he was sure that it was just a simple matter.

Marco sat in silence for a while longer before looking up at him. “I’m not lucky, Jean. I never have been. All I’ve had is magic. From the start, that’s all I’ve had. And I’ve used it, over and over again right under your nose. That’s the one secret I never told you.”

Jean swallowed, feeling like the world was skewing out of place. He reached up to rub at the skin over his heart, feeling the phantom pain return. “This has to be some kind of joke.”

“It isn’t. I’ve been doing this since I met you, since before I met you.”

“But never on our friends, right? Never on me?”

Jean waited for Marco to laugh it off, but his friend just gave him an apologetic look. The longer Marco sat without a denial, the angrier Jean became.

He could have overlooked it if Marco had used his magic against any of the people they had fought. Against the Cewri would be fine, because they had their own magicians. Against magical creatures would be fine, because they put them on level ground. But on _him_ , on their friends… “That makes you no better than the rest of them.”

Marco’s eyes widened, Jean not caring that Marco looked hurt. That was nothing compared to the hurt and betrayal that he was feeling. He had let Marco into his life, blindly allowed him close enough to kill him. Jean couldn’t count the many times over the past few years that Marco could have killed him. Or maybe that’s not what he had been doing. All Marco had been was careful and persuasive, which meant that Jean couldn’t trust his own decisions.

He scrambled to his feet, backing away from Marco and the dead fire. It shouldn’t have been so easy to imagine Marco using magic to change his mind, but Marco had always talked about acting for the good of the kingdom. It wouldn’t be too hard to make sure that Jean followed through with it.

If that was the case, how many knights were under his control? How many kingdoms?

What if Bertholdt, Annie and Reiner hadn’t been the only traitors? What if Marco had been with them?

“Jean.”

He jumped at the sound of his name, looking back down at Marco. Jean wished that he could see some evil sorcerer, but all he could see was his best friend, the man who had been with him through so many years of his life. That made it all the worse.

He shook his head and took another step back before giving into the urge to run. He thought he heard Marco shout his name again, but he pressed his hands against his ears to stop the sound. For all he knew, Marco might be trying to assert control over him again and Jean was not about to let that happen. He wasn’t going to do anything until he figured out what was going on.

Jean shoved past Buchwald and Llamrei, charging into the woods without any real attention to the direction that he was going. All that mattered was that he was getting away.

* * *

“So, the prince left you high and dry?” Marco shot a look over at Ymir, watching as she held up her hands in surrender. “I’m just asking because, if he did, you just wasted all of this on an asshole.”

“It’s not like that.”

“It’s what it looks like.”

Marco didn’t bother to argue with her, because that was exactly what it looked like. Jean had run off into the woods hours ago and hadn’t come back. Marco only hoped that Jean wouldn’t have left the horses behind, but that didn’t mean anything. Jean was stubborn enough to walk back to Trost and he was probably mad enough.

Marco burrowed further into the blanket, feeling the usual exhaustion pull at him. He was almost willing to sink into it, because it would stop all of the pain, but he didn’t dare. Marco was sure that, if he gave in, he wouldn’t wake up again. Everything was happening too fast and he didn’t have time to explain. He had hoped that it would go easier, especially since Jean had seen what good magic could do. Then again, it had always been worked by someone else and far away from him. In the end, he had waited too long to tell Jean, which had probably destroyed all of his chances.

Still, it wasn’t a complete loss. He had done his job, completed what destiny had demanded of him. It didn’t matter if he had probably twisted things beyond all recognition, Jean was safe. He could die knowing that much. It wouldn’t be a death without regrets, but it was better than a life full of them.

He closed his eyes, leaning closer to the warmth of the fire. It was a nice place to be, especially when he constantly felt cold.

Marco didn’t know how long he dozed before he was woken by a snort from one of the horses. He lifted his head slightly, glancing over towards where Buchwald and Llamrei had perked up from their grazing. He carefully untangled his left arm from the blankets, using it to brace himself as he leaned forward.

Buchwald turned his head and nickered, Marco frowning at the sound. He had only heard Buchwald make that sound when Jean was around, but he was surprised that Jean would come back. He had fully expected Jean to not bother and he had resigned himself to sitting in the camp until he died. He had convinced himself that it was alright with just seeing Jean once before the end, it was all that he was sure that he was going to get.

He cleared his throat, about to call out when he saw Jean step out of the forest. Jean stuck close to Buchwald, stroking the bay’s nose as he stared into their camp. Jean played with the straps on Buchwald’s bridle, his gaze darting between Marco and the fire.

The silence stretched on for a while, Ymir the one to break it. She stood up and made a lazy hand motion. “You two are old enough to sort this out by yourself. Be gentle with him, your highness.”

Jean tensed at that, about to snap at her when his gaze moved back to Marco. He slumped a bit, staying close to the horses until Ymir walked off into the woods.

Marco didn’t bother to watch where she went, his full attention on where Jean was distracting himself with the horses. The prince puttered around by the two bays, delaying until there was nothing else left for him to do. Even then, Jean made his way over cautiously, like he was approaching a wild animal.

Marco wasn’t sure if the slow approach or the constant pain he had been in since Ymir had dragged him back from Camlann made him impatient. He curled his fingers into the dead leaves on the forest floor, glaring at Jean. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know.” Jean looked sheepish.

“Then what are you doing?”

“Trying to figure this all out.” Jean stepped closer to the fire, eying it carefully. It was at least better than Jean staring at him like he expected Marco to strike him down when he stood. Jean dug the toe of his boot into the dirt, Marco fully expecting him to kick some dirt on the fire to get it lower, but Jean didn’t move beyond shifting the leaves. His shook his head, opening and shutting his mouth as he worked through something. Eventually, Jean just cursed and turned to look at Marco. “It’s a lot, alright? I’ve been told all my life that magic is horrible and I’ve seen it.”

“It can be good.”

Jean nodded and then shook his head. “You keep saying that, you and so many others, but I just…it’s hard Marco.” Jean whined out the words, dropping down to sit on the ground. He dropped his head into his hands. He remained that way for a moment before looking up. “I’ve tried to see the good in it, because what my father did was just as bad, but it’s always been hard. How do you tell?”

Marco pulled himself closer to Jean, stopping when Jean looked up. He offered Jean a smile, getting a blank look in return. Marco sighed and leaned back on his good arm. “Their intentions, that’s all you have.”

Jean snorted and shook his head derisively. “That’s no help.”

Marco gave him an annoyed look. “Then what do you want me to do?”

“Stop?” Jean groaned in frustration and dropped his head back into his hands. “No, I just want you to come back to Trost.”

“I can’t.”

“I don’t care. No one’s noticed before, so no one will notice now. And if they do, I’ll just change something or…I don’t know.” Jean looked up at him, one hand still tangled in his hair. “I’ve been trying to think about what I should do, and I just can’t. All I can think about is going back home and getting things back to normal. If you wanted to kill me you had plenty of time, but you didn’t. You said intent is the only way to tell with magic? Well that’s all the intent I need.”

Jean sounded resolute, which was enough to make Marco smile. He was tempted to scoot closer, but he didn’t think he could manage. Instead, he reached out to touch Jean’s hand, feeling how warm Jean was in comparison to him. He swallowed, purposefully meeting Jean’s gaze. “I was afraid you were going to go back to Trost.”

“You know me.” Jean gave him a wavering smile. “I’m stubborn.”

Marco carefully said nothing, but he was sure that Jean got the message. The corner of his mouth twitched up when he heard Jean groan, surprised when Jean leaned over to rest his head against his shoulder. He had thought that Jean would stay away for longer, or want to keep his distance from the dangerous sorcerer that Marco had to have become in his mind. But he had come back like nothing had changed.

Marco sighed, feeling the breath catch slightly in his lungs. He winced, feeling Jean wrap an arm around his shoulders. Jean pulled him close, supporting Marco against his own body. He shivered when he felt Jean rubbing his arm, sure that he felt Jean press a kiss against his temple before he moved away.

“Can you show me more?”

“Can you handle it?”

“No running off, I promise.”

Marco chuckled and reached out his hand towards the fire again. He focused on the smoke rising from it, using less power than he had before. “Hors, beride þá heofonum.”

The smoke from the first twisted and turned, curling around itself as it formed the image of a horse. Marco held the image there, letting the magic animate it into a canter. It was only then that he turned to look over at Jean, smiling at the way that the king’s eyes widened.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I told you.” He lowered his hand, watching as the smoke horse pirouetted in place before dissolving back into wisps. He heard Jean let out a slow breath. Marco wished that he still had his right hand, because it felt like the right moment to wrap it around Jean.

Instead, he just reached up to hold Jean’s hand. Marco slid their fingers together, holding on tight. He was almost afraid to let up because Jean felt solid, felt alive. Maybe, if he could hold on tight enough, he wouldn’t be taken away.

* * *

Jean was glad for the strange impulse that had led him to bringing Llamrei along. He had assumed that Marco would be able to ride back to Trost with him, but he had rethought that as soon as he seen Marco in the morning. His friend had barely woken up by the time that Jean had convinced Ymir to break camp, and he had only been awake long enough to be transferred from his log onto the bay’s back. Jean swallowed and tightened his arm around Marco’s waist, holding him closer.

He bit his lip when Marco just flopped back against him. Jean dropped the reins against Llamrei’s neck, trusting the mare to keep heading in the right direction. He was sure that she would keep following Ymir’s horse, especially since Ymir was leaning Buchwald. He squeezed his legs more tightly around the mare, using that to hold her in line as he ran his free hand over Marco’s face.

It felt like Marco’s fever had burnt itself out, but it had left Marco’s skin cold and clammy. He didn’t look right either, his freckles standing out against his pale skin. The only sounds he was making were soft whimpers, but even those were getting faint.

Jean cursed under his breath and looked around. To their right was a lake, Jean staring at the circular tower sitting tall on the island in the center. It didn’t look like there would be any help coming from there, and Trost was still a day’s ride away. Since Ymir said that she wouldn’t be riding back to Trost, there was only one other option left to him. He would have to increase the pace and gallop as far as Llamrei would take the two of them. Then he could switch to Buchwald until they got back to the castle. It would be rough on both horses, but it would get them back to Trost and to someone who could help. Either Ymir or someone else could find Llamrei when they came close.

He adjusted the blanket he had wrapped around Marco, tucking out end of it into the top before he nudged Llamrei faster. The jostling made Marco gasp, Jean whispering an apology, but he didn’t let the mare stop until she had caught up to Ymir.

Jean scrambled for the reins, pulling Llamrei up awkwardly. “Give me Buchwald.”

“Why?”

“Because Marco’s not going to last at this pace. I have to get him back.”

Ymir shot him a skeptical look, her gaze dropping to Marco. For a moment, Jean was sure that he saw real sorrow cross her face, but then she was back to hiding it behind a look of indifference. She shook her head and held Buchwald’s reins closer to her side. “No.”

“Ymir, he’s going to die!”

“He’s going to die if you rush him!”

Jean reached out for Buchwald’s reins, almost throwing him and Marco off their horse. He quickly righted the two of them, clutching Marco close. He felt Marco shiver against him, Jean muttering nonsense until Marco stopped.

“Jean.” He looked over as Ymir pulled her horse to a stop, Llamrei stopping alongside them. She reached out to touch his shoulder, Jean too shocked by the motion to pull away. She squeezed his shoulder, using the hold to keep him looking at her. “He’s not going to make it.”

“Says you.”

“Grisha Jaeger may be a great physician, but he can’t work miracles.”

“So you’re telling me to just give up?”

“I’m telling you to listen since I’m the one who found him! I’m the one who sewed him back together the best I could! I’m the one who fixed what I could!”

“Why did you bother then?”

“Because I was obviously out of my mind. I should have left him on that damn hill to do whatever he wanted. But I decided to be nice. See if I do that again.”

She kicked her horse forward, the animal snorting and setting off at a canter. Jean was tempted to follow her and demand to know more. If she had been there then she could tell him exactly what was wrong. Jean couldn’t do anything about Marco’s injuries out in the field, but he would be able to tell Grisha. The man might not have been able to work miracles, but at least he could do something more than just give up.

He gritted his teeth, about to kick Llamrei forward when he felt Marco stir in his arms. Jean pulled Llamrei to a stop again, holding the mare in place as Marco lifted his head.

It took a while for Marco to focus on him, his eye glassy. Jean reached down to touch Marco’s cheek, hoping that it would help him identify where Jean was better. Marco tipped his head back, but his eye still remained unfocused. “Jean.”

Even half out of it, Marco managed to sound disapproving. Jean tried his best to look chastised, taking advantage of how out of it Marco was to change the subject. He rubbed his thumb along Marco’s cheek. “We were just discussing about what to do. I want to get you back to Trost as fast as possible. Do you think you can handle that?”

He expected Marco to give him a nod and promise to muddle through, but Marco just remained silent. Jean sat quietly, tensing when he heard a rattle in Marco’s breathing. He tightened his hold around Marco’s waist, holding him close as he listened to Marco’s breathing. He was saved from the sound when Marco started coughing. Jean rubbed Marco’s chest, stopping when he felt something sticky on his fingers.

Jean held his hand up, his stomach dropping when he saw the blood on his fingers. “Shit.”

He practically threw himself off Llamrei, reaching up to keep Marco from tipping off the mare. He glanced around, catching sight of Ymir’s horse moving along one side of the lake. He doubted that she would come rushing back if he shouted at her, especially after what he had just said to her and running was out of the picture. Marco would fall off the horse if he did, probably making his injuries worse. But Ymir was the only one that he could count on, because there was no way that he would be able to get back to Trost with Marco in the condition he was in.

It was enough to make him regret not insisting that Grisha had come along earlier. His first hint that things had been bad should have been when Marco hadn’t come back immediately. The second one should have been when Ymir had been the one to get him. But he had stupidly assumed that Marco had gotten lost and was on his way back or that Marco had been keeping away because he was afraid about the existence of his magic. That had been the thought in his forefront of his mind when he had walked away from the camp the night before. He should have used that time to do something other than be angry over the fact that Marco had magic. Compared to what was happening, the fact that Marco had magic was the least of his problems.

Jean resolutely ignored the voice in the back of his head that said that Marco had only told him about his secret because he had known he was dying; but that didn’t sound like Marco. Marco just wouldn’t give up and die, not when he was so focused on bringing together the kingdoms.

“Jean?”

He ignored Marco’s plaintive question, turning around in a circle. There had to be something that he could do, because letting Marco die would be a shit way to repay him for everything that he had done so far. Jean didn’t care if it was luck or magic, he owed Marco.

Jean gritted his teeth before turning to look over at Ymir. He reached out for Llamrei’s reins, holding the mare still as the shouted. “YMIR!”

Her head jerked up at the shout, Jean watching as Ymir pulled her horse up. She was too far away for Jean to see her mouth move, but she looked surprised that he was calling for her. He saw her head move slightly, sure that she was seeing Marco. That seemed to be the only thing she needed to see. She leaned forward as her horse burst into a gallop.

Jean didn’t watch her approach, he spun on his heel to reach up for Marco. If Marco was going to be coughing up blood, he didn’t want his friend on the horse, not when Marco could hurt himself more.

He gently guided Marco of Llamrei’s back, taking on Marco’s full weight as he finally slid free of the saddle. Jean cursed and stumbled a few steps before falling to his knees. He kept a close hold on Marco, making sure to fall so that Marco wouldn’t be hurt.

It didn’t seem to matter because Marco still winced, clawing at Jean’s arm as they kept moving. Jean let go of him with one arm, bracing himself on the ground to keep from tilting any further. He dug his fingers into the ground, holding himself steady as Marco spasmed in his arms.

“Marco?!”

Marco whimpered in response, his blind groping for Jean’s arm stopping. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not. I’ve got you.”

His words calmed Marco further, Marco leaning back into him and breathing heavily. The rattle was back, Jean glancing over Marco. He didn’t want to take off the blanket that Marco was wrapped in, not when Marco was clinging to him so tightly. At a loss of what to do, he rubbed Marco’s arm. “I’ve got you.”

Marco hummed and turned his face into Jean’s neck, pressing it there. He felt Marco mutter something against his neck, but it was too quiet for him into hear. Jean tightened his hold on Marco, pressing his cheek against the top of Marco’s head. He cradled Marco close to him, glancing around for anything that could help.

Ymir was still racing around the edge of the lake, although Jean didn’t know how she would help. If he was lucky, she might be like Marco. Surely another sorcerer could help. Magic might not be able to heal Marco, but it could help him long enough for the two of them to get back to Trost. Grisha could help them from there, or so Jean hoped. If not, then there would be something out there, Jean had rushed after enough magical objects to know they were out there. He wasn’t going to let Marco die. It would be horrible way to repay Marco for everything that he had done for him.

Jean swallowed, purposefully not looking down at Marco. “Hold on just a little longer. We’ll get you home, I promise.”

Marco whimpered something, Jean tipping his head more to catch what Marco was trying to say. “Magic.”

“Fuck it.” Jean practically snarled the words out. “You’ve done more for me than anyone else. You should be rewarded instead of burned at the stake.”

He didn’t care what the others would say, especially since he was sure that Historia would back him up. After all, it would be a good strategy to fight the Cewri since they had a great respect for magicians. That and Trost and Mitras were the only kingdoms left that could field an army large enough to fight. Jean was willing to go after any of them, just as long as he was able to raise the ban on magic. It wouldn’t even begin to pay Marco back for everything that he had done, but it was at least the start.

He thought he heard Marco make a noise of agreement, but it trailed off into a horrible rattle.

Jean cursed and pulled Marco up against him, practically leaning over him. “Easy, Marco. Easy. I’ve got you.”

He glanced up, looking frantically for Ymir. He saw her horse rounding the curve of the lake, but she wasn’t close enough and there wasn’t _time_. Jean cradled the back of Marco’s head, leaning down to press his forehead against Marco’s. He tried to ignore the trickle of blood that was coming from Marco’s mouth, focusing on Marco’s eye. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”

It took longer than he would have liked, but the relieved expression that crossed Marco’s face was worth it. Marco smiled at him, his hand tightening where it rested on Jean’s arm. “Jean…”

The end of his name trailed off on a long sigh, the rattle returning at the end. Both the breath and the rattle cut off abruptly, Jean left with the silence. It lasted for a moment before the roaring filled his ears, Jean shaking his head as he stared at his friend.

“Marco?” Jean gave him a shake, something in his chest twisting at the way that Marco flopped limply in his arms. “No. Please. Marco, just…don’t. Come on Marco, please.”

Marco didn’t answer, he just remained limp in Jean’s arms. Jean shook his head, not sure exactly what he was denying. He had seen death enough in his life to know what it looked like, but he was used to something different.

His father had believed that a king’s place was out in his kingdom, whether that was on regular patrols or out of the battlefield. Jean had been trained for that kind of ruling, but he was used to a different kind of death, the kind that was messy and horrible. At least with that kind of death there were no questioning what had happened, it was obvious about what had happened. There wasn’t any hope.

Jean shifted, cupping Marco’s cheek. He rubbed his thumb along the side of Marco’s mouth to wipe the blood away. Jean was sure that he just ended up smearing it around, but he couldn’t just leave it. There was some part of him that wanted to believe that Marco was sleeping or passed out because of the pain. If he looked like he was asleep, then there was still a chance he could get Marco to Grisha. The man might not be able to create a miracle, but he could at least hold things together until Jean could find one. There had to be one out there, especially with how many times Marco had saved all of them. Someone had to be willing to return the favor.

He curled the hand against Marco’s cheek into a fist, watching at it shook there. It was hard to think around the sudden yawning loss that filled him. There had to be something that he could do, or else Marco had spent years wasting his time on someone that couldn’t save him in return.

He looked up at the sound of hoof beats, watching as Ymir slid off her horse without waiting for it to stop. She stumbled on the landing, but didn’t stop moving until she dropped to her knees in front of them. She looked from Jean to Marco, Jean waiting for her to say something.

Ymir stared at Marco for a moment before rocking back on her heels. She shook her head, Jean’s heart plummeting at the motion. He opened his mouth to say something, but he found that he couldn’t get a sound out. There was just the crushing realization that there was nothing that he could do. He could shout and order Ymir to do something, but she would have done something already if she could. She wasn’t offering him anything, just a single look of pity as she got to her feet.

She rested a hand on his shoulder, Jean surprised by the gentle squeeze that he felt. He looked up at her, watching her closely to see if there was any hint of something that they could do, but there was nothing. Ymir just squeezed his shoulder again. “I’ll find something for him.”

Jean wanted to ask what she meant, but he couldn’t force the words out of his throat. He just stared after her as she walked along the shore. He pulled Marco closer to him, hunching over him protectively as Ymir left them alone. The impulse was a stupid one, because nothing would be able to hurt Marco any longer, but it was better than feeling completely helpless and lost.

He uncurled slightly from around Marco, looking down at his friend. He brushed Marco’s bangs back from his face, trying to steel himself for what he had to do. It would be more disrespectful to leave Marco out in the open, and Jean couldn’t think of anything better to do. Even knowing that, he couldn’t get himself to let go of Marco. It had been his last promise to his friend, to hold onto him. Jean didn’t think he would ever be able to let go.

He let his head drop forward again, letting his forehead rest against Marco’s. Jean gritted his teeth against the pain over his heart, wanting to laugh at the quick flash. It was all too fitting. If Jean had been paying more attention to it, he would have called it an omen. After all, he had always heard that people could die of a broken heart. It might have been too much to hope for that for him, it would have been too lucky. After all, his mother had been stronger than that and he had his own duties to think about. If the king of Trost died, then more people would be killed in the wars that would follow and he couldn’t allow that. Marco wouldn’t have wanted that.

Jean letting out his breath in a shuddering sigh, lifting his head as he heard a grunt from the lake. His eyes widened as he saw Ymir hauling something out of the reeds and scrub on the shore. He sat up more, not letting go of Marco.

Ymir pulled a boat free from the mess, the woman leaning in to poke around at the bottom. She reappeared a moment later, wiping her hands on her pants as she nodded to herself. “This will do.”

Jean stared at her, trying to make sense of the words. For a moment, it felt like Ymir was speaking a strange language until she understood what she intended to do. Jean shivered and clutched Marco close. “No.”

“Jean-”

“We’re not burning him!”

Ymir looked taken aback. It was only when Jean started to scoot away that Ymir stepped forward. “What are you talking about?”

“We’re not burning him.” Jean practically snarled the words out, leaning over Marco again. “I promised that he wouldn’t be burned for what he is.”

“Fine!” Ymir threw her hands into the air. “We’ll do this your way then. Just get him ready.”

“What will you do?”

“Get some branches for him to rest on. We can at least make this look like it’s not makeshift.” Ymir stormed off into the woods, leaving the boat pulled up where she had left it.

Jean stayed curled over Marco until she had left. He found himself absently stroking Marco’s hair, stopping himself abruptly. Marco was dead and they had to take care of him.

He carefully set Marco on the ground, feeling numbness sink into him. It was easier to move through the numbness instead of shock and pain. It didn’t matter if he was moving slowly, he was still doing something, which meant his hands were moving and his mind could sink into happy oblivion.

Jean walked down to the edge of the lake, staring at the calm waters. His gaze drifted to the island in the center of the lake, smiling at the sight. Marco wouldn’t have argued with his final resting place, Jean could felt that in his gut. It was a strange, almost ticklish feeling, like something was trying to get his attention.

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed and just focusing on his breathing. He couldn’t let his mind drift, not yet. There were still things to be done. Once Marco was prepared for burial, then he could lose himself in his grief. Jean took a deep, shuddering breath before kneeling down on the shoreline. He ripped a section of his shirt free, dipping it into the water.

Once the section of fabric was soaked, Jean trudged back to Marco. He knelt neck to his friend, carefully cleaning his face. There wasn’t much there, just the smear of blood by the corner of Marco’s mouth. Jean swallowed, forcing himself to continue. He trailed the cloth over the marred side of Marco’s face, careful not to open any of the wounds that had scabbed over.

Pastor Nick had always said that their bodies went to heaven pristine, whatever injuries or illnesses that they had suffered. In the embrace of the new god, they would be made anew. Jean had always found that comforting, especially after a battle. All his comrades might have given their lives for the sake of the kingdom, but they had been given something back. Pastor Nick had never talked about how the new god viewed the souls of magicians, but Jean couldn’t see why Marco would be any different. If anyone deserved such a reward, then it was Marco.

Even then, he didn’t want to break open anything that had at least started to heal. It would be hurting Marco all over again, despite the fact that he knew that Marco could no longer feel it.

He worked his way down to Marco’s neck, hesitating at the edge of the blanket. Jean didn’t dare take it off, not even with the need to do everything he could for Marco. He didn’t want to see the rest of the injuries that Marco had gotten fighting for him. He wanted to remember his friend the way he had been the night before, smiling at Jean in the light of the fire, like none of this was about to happen.

Jean cursed and tossed the cloth away. He sat back, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. He could feel tears pricking there, Jean struggling to hold them back. He just needed a few more minutes, long enough to take care of Marco and then get away. He needed to mourn Marco in private because he was sure that no one else would understand.

The man had been his servant, his friend, one of his firmest allies, the person who had been closest to him and his protector for so many years and Jean couldn’t begin to sort it all out. Beyond that, there was the chance of what could have been; all the nights that they had shared Jean’s room, all the times that Marco had just touched him, the small things that meant the world. He was mourning for what might have been just as much as what had been.

He lifted his hands away from his eyes as Ymir came out of the forest, her arms laden with branches. She barely glanced at them, dropping her load into the boat and starting to arrange them.

Jean stayed where he was, staring out at the lake. His gaze lingered on the island and tower in the center, trying to remember if he had heard anything about them. To the best of his knowledge. Annwyn was just another point on the map of Trost. There was probably more to it, but it had all been lost when the wars with the magicians had been won. Jean didn’t even know how wide the lake was, it was just another part of the forest.

He turned his gaze back to Ymir when she stepped away from the boat. She brushed her hands over before nodding. “It’ll do.”

Jean caught the end of her gesture towards him, feeling his stomach twist. He wanted to delay a bit longer, wait just in case something happened. Marco had been a sorcerer after all, perhaps there was something that would happen. Jean didn’t know enough about magic, but maybe there would be something. But he couldn’t afford to wait much longer. There were kingdoms to sort out, and Jean couldn’t dodge that. Marco wouldn’t have let him when he was alive.

He swallowed and scooped Marco into his arms. He hesitated for a moment before getting to his feet, trying to shift Marco so the two of them wouldn’t fall over. Jean bit his lip as he swayed on his feet, remaining still until he trusted himself to walk forward. Even then he took slow and careful steps towards the boat.

Ymir had laid out the branches so they formed a bier over the planks that served as seats. More were stuck out around the edges, Jean not sure if they were a design or if Ymir hadn’t known what to do with them. He carefully maneuvered Marco around a few of them before laying his friend on the main group. The branches sagged a bit as he set Marco down, but they held.

Jean lifted his hands slowly away, pausing to fix the scrap of fabric that Marco always wore around his neck. He couldn’t remember a day that Marco had gone without it. Marco had told him once that it was something to remember his family by, a scrap of his mother’s dress that she had taken apart for him and his seven other siblings, something to remember her and the village of Jinae by. Jean trailed his fingers over the fabric before he stepped away, staring down at the makeshift bier.

He hadn’t brought Marco’s armor, it was still back at the castle. He hadn’t brought anything that he wouldn’t have needed for what he had assumed to be a quick ride out and a quick ride back. He should have thought to bring something, anything that would have meaning to Marco. It was tradition to send the deceased on with some sort of implement of their craft. Pastor Nick had always called it an old superstition, but he had never stopped it. It felt significant in a way, but Jean had nothing. He couldn’t even begin to think of what would be appropriate for a sorcerer, but he did know what would be perfect for a knight.

Jean fumbled at his waist, unhooking the belt that held his sword in place. He glanced down at the intricate work around the pommel before he knelt down to drop both sword and belt into the boat. He bent over to curl Marco’s fingers around Dyrnwyn’s hilt. The sword was priceless, a magical relic from the beginning of the kingdom of Trost, but it felt right that it would go with Marco. After all, Marco had been the one that had brought the sword to him. Jean could get another one if he needed it.

He held onto Marco’s hand for a moment longer before stepping away, heading for the back of the boat. He was surprised when Ymir joined him, the two of them looking at each other for a moment before they started to push the boat into the water.

At first, the boat resisted their efforts. Jean ducked his head and shoved harder, sighing when the boat finally started to slide towards the water. As soon as the nose pushed into the water it was easier to shove the boat out. Jean couldn’t feel a current in the lake, but he was sure that the boat would drift easily as soon as they got it far enough in.

He stepped into the water, ignoring the way that it soaked his pants and rushed into his boots as he stepped deeper into the lake. He was ready to push the boat until it started drifting, even if that meant walking all the way out to the island in the middle.

Ymir stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, Jean looking over at her in shock. She just reached over to pry his fingers free from the stern, replacing them with her own. She rested her hands there for a moment, her head bent over the boat. After a beat of silence, she lifted her head and gave the boat a shove, Jean seeing gold flash in her eyes as the boat started moving on its own. “In sibbe gereste.”

Jean watched the boat drift off, holding his tongue until it had drifted past a patch of riverweed. “What did you say?”

“Rest in peace.”

He nodded, continuing to watch the boat.

For a while, Ymir stayed with him. Then, she turned and walked out of the lake.

Jean didn’t turn his head to watch her leave, he didn’t dare take his eyes away from the boat that was moving unerringly towards the island in the center of the lake. He curled his hands into fists by his sides, not caring if they were shaking. It didn’t matter if any part of him was shaking because he had done his duty. He had sent Marco off in the best way that he could have managed. It should have eased some of the hurt, but it just made it worse.

The phantom pain was back, Jean gritting his teeth against the slow stabbing sensation. He reached up to clutch at his shirt, holding tight until the feeling abruptly stopped, leaving him gasping for breath. The release didn’t help, it just eased the numbness that he had been feeling away. The huge sense of loss returned, Jean surprised by how much it hurt.

He sank to his knees, not caring that the water now lapped at his stomach. He ignored the sensation, not daring to look away from the boat that was drifting further away in the lake. He kept his gaze on the boat until he couldn’t see it any longer, Jean straining through his blurred vision before giving up and letting his chin drop to his chest. He dug the fingers of his hand into the fabric of his shirt, swaying slightly as he finally let the tears fall.

* * *

Blood was harder to get off the torc than she imagined. Ymir grumbled to herself and leaned close to the fire, using its light to help guide her as she scrubbed the blood out of the intricate designs on it. She had managed to get the worst off, but the rest was set in, a reminder that she should have started working on it sooner. She’d had other things to do, and she still did, but Jean hadn’t looked like he was ready to leave the lake just yet and she hadn’t felt comfortable leaving him. For all she knew, Jean would walk out into the lake and drown himself, which wouldn’t help anyone. It didn’t matter that Marco had been dead for less than a full day, Ymir was sure that he would find a way to haunt her if she didn’t get Jean back to Trost in one peace.

She dropped the scrap of fabric into her lap, turning the torc in the light. Ymir huffed when she saw more dark patches among the designs at the end. It didn’t help that the ends were shaped like dragon heads. Cleaning them out would take more time. Ymir dropped the torc into her lap, considering it.

It might have been more impressive to the Cewri if she had worn it still coated in the blood of their leader, but she was fastidious enough to not want it on her. Besides, she had plenty of time to work on it. From what she had seen, they would be spending the night beside the lake before moving on. And they would be moving on in the morning no matter what Jean wanted. There were other, more pressing things to take care of.

Everything was still in a state of disarray and needed to be corrected. There were Cewri running rampant throughout the country and Cewri waiting nervously down in Shinganshina. If she wanted to do anything about them, she would have to act fast and before the others did. She didn’t worry about Historia, the queen would be careful about charging into anything. It was what the others would do. She had heard that Queen Rita had died in battle which meant there wouldn’t be a direct charge towards the Cewri, at least not if Jean didn’t snap out of his funk. If they could delay just a few days longer, then she might be able to complete her plan.

She picked the torc back up, turning it over in her fingers. She nearly dropped it again when she heard the sound of a rock being placed on other rocks. Ymir twisted in place, staring at the cairn that she had made by the edge of the lake.

She had made it while she was still at a loss of what do to. Sending Marco off in the boat hadn’t seemed right, not with just a sword. Ymir had make the cairn the best she could with the rocks in the area. It wasn’t the best way to remember him, but it might be the only thing that he got.

Jean was standing by the cairn, resting his hand on the rock that he had placed on it. Ymir raised an eyebrow at him, surprised that he had even approached the pile of rocks. She had thought that he would have avoided it as something from the old religion, but Jean continued to surprise her.

She turned more to face him, sighing when she saw that he was shivering. She hadn’t thought that he would get out of the lake, but it appeared that getting out of the water had just been a worse idea. Ymir sighed and set the torc back on her lap. “Get over here.”

Jean shuffled over to the fire, the motion almost seeming automatic. He sat down beside her, staring into the flames. Ymir was tempted to just leave him there. The fire would warm him up and she was sure that he would eventually get to sleep. If he didn’t, then it would be easier to get him on one of the horses and back to Trost. She needed to pass by the kingdom to get to where Prochoros had seen the Cewri. They were the ones that she would have to tackle first before the rest would fall in.

Ymir looked down at the torc again, staring at the black spots in the stylized heads before giving up. It would work for the time being, until she could melt the damn thing down into something that suited her better. She reached over to drag her bag closer to her, tucking the torc back into the safety of the cradle of clothes in there. She trailed her fingers over it in the safety of her bag, using the cold metal to reassure herself.

They fell into silence sitting around the fire, Ymir watching Jean out of the corner of her eye. The king was still shivering as he hunched towards the fire, but he didn’t seem to be seeing anything. Ymir was fine with that, she needed a bit of silence to herself. The days that she had allotted to figuring out the best way to approach the Cewri had been taken up with caring for Marco. She had hoped to have time to talk to Prochoros more, but the dragon had stayed away because of how wrong things had felt, not that Ymir could blame him.

She doubted Marco would have felt the awkwardness about the world with how much pain he had been in, but it had felt like the moments before a thunderstorm. Something had been waiting to break and, with Marco’s death, the feeling had gone. Without that strange wrongness, Ymir was sure that Prochoros would come back, as would Oighrig, although she was sure that the young dragon would stick to the shores of the lake. Ymir was sure that, the next time she passed the lake, the cairn would have risen from the work done by the dragon. Or, possibly, Jean judging by the way he was looking. Ymir doubted that the king would get much sleep that night.

She pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them. She was debating on whether she could trust Jean on his own long enough for her to get food when Jean looked up from the fire. His eyes still had a distant look to them, but he looked a little less lost. If anything, he almost looked like he once had.

Jean shifted in place, draping his arms over his crossed legs. “You found him at the ambush point.”

It wasn’t a question, so Ymir didn’t answer. Jean didn’t seem to care. He picked at a small rock on the ground, lifting it up and rolling it around in his palm. “We found that place and it looked like the whole damn army was burnt out. But I can’t stop thinking that it could have been me up there. It was obvious that it was a trap, but we fell for it, but it never happened.”

Ymir nodded slowly. “Because of Marco.”

Jean nodded, closing his fingers over the rock. “He cut us off. If he hadn’t, then I would have led the charge up there. I’ve been thinking about it, and that’s exactly what I would have done. I would have left Captain Smith in charge of the main battle, which we would have lost because he lost his arm. I just keep thinking about what would have happened if I had been there.”

“I would still end up here, although it would be with Marco.”

“It should have been the two of you.”

Ymir hummed, tipping her head to the side. She didn’t think that Jean wanted to hear the truth, but she was sure that he would work towards it soon enough.

If Jean had died, then Marco probably would have just slipped off to leave Historia to take the place that she was destined to take. It would have been easier, because there would be nothing but blank space for Historia to be put into.

“Is there a way to bring him back?”

Ymir jerked her head up at the question. She stared at Jean, waiting for him to back down, but he didn’t. The old spark was back, Ymir almost tempted to smile at the stubborn prince that she recognized, but she didn’t want to encourage him. If she told him the answer, then she knew exactly what would happen. The balance must be kept, a life must be given for another. Jean would give himself up for Marco, which would just lead to Marco doing the same. It would be an endless back and forth with the danger that something would sneak through while they fought for each other. It was better to lie, for her and Historia’s sake.

She shook her head. “No.”

Jean matched her gaze, Ymir thinking that he saw through her for a moment, but then he settled back into his slump. “I thought not.”

Ymir turned away from him, staring back at the fire. She heard Jean suck in a deep breath before letting it out slowly, the sound ushering in the silence again. Ymir was more than happy to keep it. It meant no more questions that she would have to dance around or explanations that she didn’t feel like giving. Instead, there was only the crackle of the fire, the sound of the horses grazing and the water in the lake lapping on the shore.

* * *

_Three women stood in front of the gates of Trost, blocking the way into the castle for anyone else. Each of them wore a crown and carried a different object; a sword, a shield and a staff. They held them loosely, not threatening but unmoving, there was no way that he would be getting past them._

_He reined his horse in, watching all three of them as they bowed their heads slightly. There was no insult in the motion, but he felt like he should be the one bowing to them. He backed Buchwald further away, watching as the three remained in place._

_They righted their heads and spoke in unison. “Hail once king. You may not pass here. Promises have been made, and they must be kept.”_

_He frowned and looked over the fields that surrounded the city. They were clear and free of farmers or anyone coming in and out. He looked back at them, watching as the women bowed their heads again. “It was not meant to be you, but now it must be you. Thus, we present you a curse and a blessing.”_

_“A curse?” He reached for his sword, his hand closing around nothing. He twisted in the saddle to stare at his empty hip. He groped around for his sword, his heart sinking when he realized that it really wasn’t there. He slumped forward when he remembered where the sword was._

_Dyrnwyn was with Marco in the boat that had probably fetched up on the shore by now._

_He let his hand fall back to the reins, looking at the women again. All three of them had raised their hands in a placating gesture._

_“Peace, it will not do you physical harm. We just need a watcher, a guardian. For that, you will have to live far beyond the bounds of what is expected. It is a great burden and, for that, we give you a great blessing. Your friend will be returned to you, as you would have been returned from the paradise of Annwyn. We promise you this but, to do this, you will have to give up all you have. Once you would have been the once and future king, but we find we are in need of a knight instead. Maybe one day you will be king again, but that we cannot promise.”_

_He stared at all of them, trying to put together what they were trying to say. He shook his head, glaring at them. “On whose authority?”_

_“On the authority of the ones who have allowed you that throne and given you the land. On the authority of the ones who have granted the power that has saved you many times.” The women fixed him with a stern look before their faces softened again. “It will be hard, but you will be watched and helped. Magic has not deserted you, once king. It will keep you in good stead.”_

_The three stepped forward, the woman with the staff holding up her free hand, offering him a scrap of fabric. He spurred his horse forward, leaning over to take the red square of fabric from her hands._

_He held it up, running his fingers over the frayed end before he traced over the embroidered flowers. He remembered Marco telling him the names of the flowers, but he could no longer remember them. All he knew was that Marco would have never taken it off. It was a reminder of his family back in Jinae, the family that he had always talked about going back to. He lifted the square to his lips, pressing a kiss to it._

_When he lowered it again, the women were gone but the gates to Trost looked imposing. It didn’t look like home, it looked more like a prison. He tipped his head up to look at the high walls, watching as the guards patrolled. All of them were probably looking out for marauding Cewri and he would have usually called up to them to check how things were going._

_But he didn’t._

_He gave the castle one more look before turning Buchwald and cantering away from his home._

* * *

“Are you going back to Trost?”

 Jean looked up at the question, watching as Ymir tugged at the girth. He watched her finish up her adjustments, watching as she crossed her arms over her chest.

He looked away from her, staring back into the dying fire as he closed his hand more firmly around the scrap of red fabric in his hand.

“No.”

* * *

“I grant and promise them. The things which I have here before promised, I will perform and keep. So help me God.” Historia tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke the words. She didn’t think that it mattered because the crowd in the great hall had been chanting from the end of her first sentence. Historia almost felt the need to shout the last sentence, but she kept her voice steady. Keeping steady was the only way that she felt that she wouldn’t be falling apart.

Her first coronation had been nerve wracking enough, and that had been when she had been crowned as the queen of one kingdom. Now she was facing a grand audience of all the nobles of the four kingdoms and their captains. She looked over the front row, her stomach twisting as the bishop stepped away, gesturing at her.

Numbly she stood up as the criers shouted above the cheers. “All hail Queen Historia of Mitras, Trost, Stohess and Quinta, queen of the four kingdoms. All hail!”

The cheers started again, Historia forcing a smile on her face as she looked over at them. She raised her hand to wave, hoping that the motion didn’t look too wooden. The people below her wanted a queen who looked strong, especially after all they had suffered.

Stohess and Quinta had been without a monarch for months while their councils had decided which way they had wanted to turn. Trost had been without a king for slightly less than a month, but they had suffered for the loss of their king. The once great kingdom had barely held together between chasing down the disappearing Cewri and handling the search for their king, but Jean was nowhere to be found. Historia was sure that there were still people out looking for Jean; she didn’t think that any of their close friends would ever stop.

Her smile wavered, but she forced it back into place, surprised when the cheers came louder. For today only, she had to look like she didn’t care that Jean has mysteriously disappeared. She was the queen of a united country, and they expected a celebration from her today. And then, tomorrow, she would have to start talking about what to do about the Cewri. At least she would get a break, long enough to pretend to enjoy herself at least.

Historia nodded at the bishop that was standing beside her before stepping away from her throne. She was prepared to walk down the aisle and out into the great hall when the cheers stopped abruptly. The crowd started to turn towards the doors, Historia staring at the great doors as they bowed inwards briefly before they were thrown open. Historia only got a glimpse of painted bodies and spotty armor before the screams started.

She didn’t get to see much more before her guards rushed in front of her, Historia stumbling backwards as Eren stepped in front of her. Armin and Mikasa filled in the gaps by her side, all of them drawing their swords. Historia stepped slightly to the side, peering out between their arms to see the rest of her guards forming up around the guests. She thought she saw Erwin pushing through the crush of people, Levi hovering by his side.

Historia licked her lips, glancing around the hall. There were a few escape routes, but it would be a task to funnel the guests through into the other rooms. She didn’t think that they could risk sending the guests out into the courtyard of the castle. The Cewri would have been there if they had come into the castle itself. Historia was sure that they could guard a few rooms, but she didn’t think that they could repulse a great attack, but that didn’t answer the important question.

If there were Cewri in the castle, then how had they gotten past the low town and the castle guards?

Eren reached back to touch her shoulder, Historia looking up at him as Eren nodded towards one of the doors. “You should leave, your majesty.”

“But-”

“We can handle this.”

Historia huffed, ready to argue with him. She had trained with the rest of them and was just as capable of defending herself. She was _not_ going to be chased out of her own castle because the Cewri had come back. If anything, it was just a few of them, easy enough to handle and take care of.

She reached out to touch his hand, about to push it off when she saw Mikasa stiffen. She didn’t get the time to really think over the motion before she heard a familiar voice shouting above the panic.

“I’m just here to pay my homage to the queen. We’re unarmed!”

Historia ducked around her guards, her mouth falling open in shock as she saw the woman that was standing between the two Cewri warriors. She reached forward to push her way through her three guards and hurry down the stairs. “Ymir!”

Ymir flashed her a cocky grin as soon as she managed to get through Mikasa and Eren. The woman dropped into a bow, but she didn’t look away from her. “I’m sorry I’m late, your highness. It took a bit longer to get my gift together.”

Historia stepped forward to take Ymir’s hand, using her free hand to wave her guards away. She noticed that they didn’t quite obey her order, all of them eying the Cewri warily. Historia turned to head to give Eren a pleading look, but he just shook his head. Historia sighed and looked back at Ymir. “What gift?”

Ymir lifted her chin slightly, Historia getting a glimpse of a gold torc under the collar of her shirt before one of Ymir’s Cewri guards stepped forward. The man looked slightly at a loss without his weapon, but he stamped his foot on the floor and bellowed out, “Announcing the queen and the elected War Chief of the Cewri of Shinganshina, Queen Ymir.”

Ymir made a slight flourish of a gesture, the grin not leaving her face. She turned slightly away from Historia to look at the rest of the guests. All of them were held in thrall, probably surprised that there hadn’t been an attack and by the announcement. But Historia couldn’t bring herself to look away from Ymir.

The woman nodded at the warrior before dropping into a bow in front of Historia. She reached out to haul Ymir up, but the woman remained kneeling. “I’ve come to pay homage to the queen of the four kingdoms and to begin talks to peace.”

An uproar went up at the announcement, Historia turning in place at the sound. She was sure that many people were cheering, but it was hard to tell between the shouts to throw the three out.

She turned to meet Erwin’s gaze, watching the man nod before he waded through the mess of people. Historia glanced around, picking out Nile Dawk and Dot Pixis as they came forward as well, probably to try and calm the crowd down. Historia was tempted to order them to get everyone out of the throne room. It would be better to divert them with the rest of the celebration while the rest of them went into talks, but she doubted that she would be able to be heard. She bit her lip, but let the three men start their work, the guards staring to circulate through the room and calm the people down.

A tug on her hand brought her attention back to Ymir. The woman had gotten back to her feet, looking all too pleased with herself.

With no one watching, Historia gave into the urge to smack Ymir on the shoulder. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling though, Historia holding onto Ymir’s arm. “Where have you been?”

“Working miracles.” Ymir smiled, although the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. There was something there that she would have to tease out, but the middle of a throne room wasn’t the place. She would have to wait until the talks were done, when she was sure to be left alone.

At a loss of what to do, she squeezed Ymir’s arm. It wasn’t the best apology or promise of support, but it was all that she could do. Ymir seemed to understand, her smile softening for a moment before she stepped away. There were many things that she wanted to talk about as soon as they got a private moment, but that would have to wait. She was not Christa the servant girl anymore, she was Historia and she had to be the queen, at least for a while longer.

She let go of Ymir’s arm, letting her fingers trail down it. It was the best she could get to a promise of later, but she knew that Ymir would understand.

Historia stepped around Ymir, the two Cewri that had come with her stepping aside. She saw one go into an abbreviated bow as she passed, Historia giving the man a thankful smile. She thought she saw him blush, but her attention was back on the nobles and soldiers who were still trying to funnel them out of the room. She made her smile wider, watching as the room fell silent. Historia resisted the urge to make sure that her crown was in the right place, instead folding her hands so her sleeves fell over her fingers.

“I would like to formally invite the Queen of the Cewri to join us for celebrations. She has assured me that she has come to pay homage. Considering this is a day of celebration, I insist that we put aside aggressions in the sake of peace. I promise you that my first act as queen will be attaining that peace that we all desire. Until then, I say we grease the wheels of diplomacy with good food and wine.”

She grinned at the cheer that rose from the crowd. If there were any dissenters, Historia was sure that she would never hear them. Everyone in the room was probably tired of the war, especially after the last effort. The idea of peace was something too tantalizing to turn away, and Historia intended to take advantage of that. The others she would have to watch carefully. She had just gotten Ymir back, and she didn’t want anyone messing that up by goading the Cewri into war.

Historia remained standing in the middle of the aisle, watching as the nobles and soldiers started to file out of the room. She thought she heard more cheers from the people who had gathered outside, the sound dying down when they realized that she was not among them. They would want to see her before any talks could happen; she was the one that they had traveled miles to see.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, preparing herself for the first step outside. She had done it once in Mitras, it wouldn’t be too bad to do it again. All she had to do was smile and wave for a few moments before urging them to start their celebration. Then, she had to keep smiling until the feast was over. Only then would she be given time to herself.

She turned to nod back at Eren, Armin and Mikasa, letting them go ahead of her. They formed an honor guard around her, Historia surprised when Mikasa stepped aside to let Ymir through. The two women glared at each other before they seemed to reach an agreement, but Historia wasn’t sure how. It was just enough that Ymir was tucking herself against her side like nothing had changed.

Historia snaked a hand between their bodies, grabbing onto Ymir’s hand. It was warm and real, far better than the thousands of times that she had dreamed that she was holding Ymir’s hand. It steadied her, Historia closing her eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. It didn’t take much more before she was ready, she’d had plenty of practice acting the part of the queen in Mitras; it was just a matter of playing the part for a much larger crowd.

She held onto Ymir’s hand for a moment more before letting it slip from her hands. There would be a time that she could stand with Ymir, but that would have to wait. It would be better to tackle one thing at a time. The first thing that had to be taken care of were the people waiting to see her. After that, she would have the whole night to herself.

Historia nodded to her guards, following after them as they pushed their way through the crowd. The closer they got to the door to the throne room, the more she could pick out the words that the crowd was cheering. She felt Ymir brush up against her, glad of the silent vow of support. At least if any of this went wrong she had somewhere to go, not that Historia thought it would. They were at peace, and it was a relief to finally be there.

She felt Ymir catch and squeeze her hand before they stepped out into the open, Historia smiling at the cheer that came from the people crammed into the courtyard.

“Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forbearnan! - Let the fire consume!  
> Hors, beride þá heofonum. - With the heavens, seize the horse.  
> In sibbe gereste - Rest in peace.


	3. Epilogue: Long Live the King

Jean carefully hefted the stone into place, wiggling it a bit to secure it. He let go of the stone, staring at it as he took a cautious step back. The rock held, Jean smiling as he looked at it. It fit perfectly into the empty slot, although its coloring made it stand out.

Most of the other rocks in the cairn were local rocks, things that he and the others that brought over the years. There were a few towards the top of the cairn where no others could reach, but Jean was sure that Oighrig had been the one to haul those stones in. He had seen the dragon circling over the lake back when the cairn had been smaller. Jean had thought that the dragon had been guarding the lake until he had seen Oighrig flying in two rocks almost too large for her to carry and placing them on the growing pile.

Jean smiled up at one of the banded stones just out of his reach. For a moment, he was tempted to call on the dragon using the words that Ymir had taught him all those years ago, but he doubted Oighirg would answer. For one, they were too close to town and closer still to the road. He also doubted that Oighrig would still be alive. He knew that dragons lived long, but not for over two thousand years. If he called, he was more likely to get one of her children, a dragon that had never known the call of a dragonlord. It was entirely possible that they wouldn’t come to him at all. He wasn’t a dragonlord, he just knew the call.

He rocked up onto his toes to touch the banded stone, trailing his finger along a dent in the rock that had to have been made when the dragon had carried it to the cairn. “I’ll keep the watch.”

He knew that the dragon couldn’t hear him, but it was a hard habit to break. The lake was the only place that he didn’t have to watch what he was saying.

Jean patted the rock before stepping back, tucking his hands into his pockets. It was starting to warm up, a relief after the long winter that he had suffered through. It had been hard enough keeping the snow off his walk, the car and in a path to and from the barn, but it had been worse because he hadn’t been able to get out to the lake. He had only managed it when he had decided to risk saddling up Hengroen. The horse had handled the snow alright, but Jean hadn’t wanted to risk the horse for too many trips out to the lake, especially when the snow turned to ice.

He frowned and dug his toe into the ground, shaking his head at the mud. Hengroen would be eager to get out for something more than a short jaunt out in the pasture, but Jean didn’t trust the trails. If he wanted to ride the bay, he would have to stick close to the road. He would have to keep his trips to the lake when there wasn’t much traffic, he didn’t want to be competing with the rest of the kids rushing off to school and speeding past the horse. Hengroen was more valuable than any of their cars; a war horse of the best pedigree, if that counted for anything anymore.

He took a step back from the cairn, looking out over the lake towards the island in the center. The tower was barely there, the top half having fallen down during one war. Jean couldn’t remember much about it, the war had been long ago and he had been busy away from the lake. He only remembered coming back and noticing the wreck of the tower. He also remembered the urge to swim out to the island and take a rock from the ruined tower for the cairn, but that had felt wrong. After two thousand years, Jean had learned to listen to those feelings.

Jean gave the island one last look, pressing his right hand in a fist over his heart before he started climbing the trail back to the road. It was a gentle trail, but it gave him plenty of time to think, something that he didn’t like. He preferred to keep busy, whether it was at his job in town or out because something in the kingdom demanded his attention. Time to himself meant that he had time to think, and there were far too many things that he would rather keep his mind from straying to.

He jammed his hands further into his pockets, his fingers automatically seeking out the red neckerchief. Jean knew that it wasn’t there, he had stopped carrying around when it had started fraying faster than he could repair it. He had been able to find a few sorcerers that could help him repair and preserve it, but they were becoming harder to find as the time went on. Jean didn’t know if it was because there was less magic in the world, or because they were more focused on other things. In a world were so much was done so quickly, Jean understood why no one would even try to use magic. Besides, magic seemed like a distant and ancient thing, too old for the new world.

The idea made him want to laugh or cry, it depended on the day. He shrugged to himself and ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t know what it made him feel today, but it was easier not to think about it.

He looked up when he heard a car go past on the road, Jean getting a flash of green. He stepped around the tree, smiling when he recognized the station wagon.

Dr. Jaeger was returning from his rounds, which meant that it was getting late. Jean tipped his head back to look at the sun, shaking his head when the sky remained overcast. It usually took him half an hour to walk to the lake, he knew that much, but he didn’t know how long he had spent by the lake, cleaning up the shore and the cairn. It had been a shorter job that usual because the weather had kept the worst of the tourists out.

There were always tourists making the loop of the old castles. Jean had heard all of the stories that had come with them, and he laughed at most of them. His own time wasn’t the time of romance and gentle passions as every one of the stories made it out to be, but he doubted that any of the tourists wanted to hear that. They just wanted to make the trip through the united kingdoms, from Shinganshina to the current capital of Mitras, through Trost, Quinta and Stohess. The tourists always managed to make a trip to the lake, probably the fault of the sign that had been put up.

Jean picked up his pace, making his way to the small parking lot at the end of the trail. He had to side step the sign coming off the trail, Jean slowing so he could tip his head back and look at the sign.

_HERE LIES THE BODY OF KING JEAN KIRSTEIN_

_King Jean ruled as the last king of an independent Trost and was generally considered their best king. Under his rule, he continued his father’s policies of gentle toleration and held the boundaries that Geoffroi had established. He is best known for his part in holding the boarder and pushing back many attempts of the Cewri tribes to push further into the center of the country. He also played a major part in stopping the ongoing war in Mitras and putting Queen Historia Reiss on the throne._

_He ruled in Trost until the Battle of Camlann. His last days still remain a mystery as he disappeared soon after. History doesn’t reveal what happened to him, but history and local legend said that he spent his last days by Lake Annwyn and was eventually buried on the island in the center. Searches of the island at the center of the lake have revealed nothing, but the legends say that he will return to help when the country needs him the most._

He huffed and reached out to flick the edge of the sign, watching it sway as he shook his head. It was all nonsense and the reason that so many tourists rushed to the lake. Most of them were respectful enough, but some of them enjoyed taking rocks from the cairn, which left Jean to put it back together. With the way that the weather was going, he would be free of the worst kind of tourists for another few weeks. When the weather did finally get better, he would be sure to ride Hengroen out to the lake more often. Most people didn’t dare bother the cairn when others were around, and certainly not when there was a horse and rider. Jean didn’t know why, but he didn’t question it.

Jean gave the sign one last look before turning back to the road. He had a long walk home, and he couldn’t tell how long he had before the sun set. The only hint he had was the cold wind that was starting to blow, but that could just meant that there was another storm coming in.

He cast one last look up at the clouds, reaching back to turn his collar up. Jean shivered as the wind picked up, hunching his shoulders as he crammed his hands into his pockets. It wouldn’t matter if he was caught out in the rain, he had enough practical evidence that he couldn’t die, at least until the three women were done with him. A walk in a downpour would just be uncomfortable and he would have a cold for a few days, but everything would be alright in the end. It certainly wouldn’t stop him from coming back to the lake.

It had almost been two thousand years and nothing had stopped him from returning to the cairn beside the lake.

Jean threw one last look over his shoulder, staring down the path as he counted under his breath. He let a minute pass, heaving a sigh when no one stumbled up the path. He had given up believing that a miracle would happen, but that didn’t mean that he had given up hope.

He rolled his shoulders to settle his coat more comfortably before he turned and started back down the road.

* * *

Cold was the first thing that he was aware of. He shivered and tried to curl further in on himself, wrapping his arms around himself. He couldn’t quite manage the move because his right arm wasn’t moving for some reason, but he didn’t care. Just as long as he got away from the cold. He pulled his knees almost up to his chin before he settled again, shivering every once and a while.

He didn’t know how long he was allowed to drift in between sleep and awareness, but cold didn’t wake him again. The next time he was shaken awake by a gentle hand.

He lifted his head up, having to turn his head to see anything. It took a moment for his left eye to focus. When it did, he saw a beautiful young woman sitting on the edge of his bed. She had one hand on his shoulder while the other one stroked his hair. He frowned, pushing himself up on his good arm.

The woman didn’t seem alarmed, she just shifted to give him more room. She rested one hand on her lap while the other went to rest on the shield that was propped up close by. He tipped his head, trying to get a better look at the design on the shield when the woman moved, drawing his attention back to her. The woman smiled at him, reaching out to cup his chin in her hands. “You can’t sleep anymore.”

“What?”

“You’ll be needed soon.”

He shook his head, trying to sort out what she meant. The woman just smiled indulgently, letting go of him so she could stand up. “The time has come to fulfill our promise.”

Her hands slipped under his shoulders. She gave him a gentle shove that sent him stumbling away from his bed.

The world shifted around him, giving him glimpse of grand rooms and great halls. He was sure that all of them were empty, but that didn’t explain why he could hear voices. He was tempted to lag behind, but he couldn’t tell what was tugging him forward, only that it felt right to be moving. He had been resting for too long, whatever that meant.

He frowned, trying to pick out a real reason for the feeling, but he couldn’t remember much. The last things he could remember was a horse rising out of the smoke, arms around him and a voice frantically telling him to stay with him. He squeezed his eye shut, trying to piece together more than that, but he didn’t get to linger on it too long. Somehow, even though he was walking, he faded into sleep again.

Or at least it felt like sleep. He didn’t know if any of it was a dream because he was still moving under what felt like his own power, but he couldn’t really tell what he was seeing. For a moment, it was the grand house that he had been traveling through before, then it was a throne room. Then it was the outside, a ruined tower catching his attention. He couldn’t imagine what such a grand mansion was doing so close to a ruined tower, but he didn’t get too long to linger on it.

He was chivied down a slope and to what looked like a lake. Three women stepped in front of them, but he couldn’t focus on their faces. All he knew was that they each held something; a sword, a shield and a staff. His gaze was drawn to the one with the staff. For a moment, he thought he saw her eyes flash gold before she was reaching out with one hand. The two others copied the motion.

The one carrying the sword rested her hand against his forehead. The one carrying the shield rested her hand over his eyes. The one with the staff rested her hand over his heart.

He shifted in place when he felt their hands warm up, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. He felt more awake than he had before, his heart beating faster. He could feel a name forming on his tongue, breathing it out as the women’s hands went cold. “Jean.”

Through a gap in one of their fingers, he thought he saw the woman smile. She closed her fingers, blocking his sight again. He didn’t get the chance to ask them what they were doing before they were speaking in unison.

“We have healed you and now we wake you. You are given purpose and name. You are to help he who would have been the once and future king. You are to hold fast against the forces that will break down the kingdom. You are to be the fulfillment of our promise. To you we grant the powers that were always yours. To you we promise no words of destiny as the great threads have been rewoven into something even we cannot see. All we know is that you are needed, and to that end we give you magic and the sword of the king.”

He felt a sword placed in his hand. Automatically, he curled his fingers more securely around the hilt. It felt right to pull it close to his chest, holding it like some of the effigies in the grand cathedral that he had seen built in Trost.

The motion seemed to please the women. The pressed their hands more firmly against his head, their words sending a thrill of power through him. “We name you magician. We name you friend of the king. We name you knight. We name you made of magic itself.

“We name you Marco Bodt.”

He felt his breath pushed from him with the name. He reeled backwards, glad when the women caught him.

He must have blacked out again because the next thing he knew he was being lowered into the waters of the lake. He gasped and tried to fight back, but all he could do was writhe in place with the sword pressed to his chest.

The three women didn’t seem to notice his struggles, they just kept pushing him towards the water while chanting in the same voice. “Dotiag-sa ar idbairt do denam! Dotiag-sa ar idbairt do denam!”

He opened his mouth to demand to know what they were doing when he was shoved under the water. He gasped, water rushing into his mouth. He got one last glimpse of the three women before he sunk too far below the surface. He was left staring up at the distortion of the surface before there was nothing.

He drifted in the darkness for a while, drawn into the peacefulness of the place under the lake. He felt like he drifted forever, or that he had always drifted under the lake. It was the peace that the new and old religion promised in the afterlife, a great lightness that filled his soul. He could feel everything if he reached his senses out, from the smallest animal to the thousands of people, far more than he expected. But most of all he could feel a shining gold light, a presence that was far more familiar than the others. He knew that person down to the core of their being, and he longed to go back.

He sighed, a word drifting out with the breath.

“Jean.”

His whole body jolted as he spoke, Marco coughing as water rushed into his lungs. He jerked in the water, dropping his arm from his chest back to his side. He could feel the sword slipping in his hand, Marco gritting his teeth as he shifted so the belt was looped around his arm. When he was sure of his hold he kicked up towards the surface, his gaze fixed on the light that he saw.

Marco could feel the urge for a breath rising up, urging him on faster. He didn’t want to die under the water. There was someone waiting on him, so close that he could touch him as long as he got to the surface. He looped his arm through the sword belt again before using it to push himself to the surface faster.

The light danced just out of his reach, Marco paddling desperately to get to the surface and get a breath of air.

He was sure that he was going to pass out and drown when his head finally broke the surface. Marco took a deep breath of air, the breath turning into a gasp as he missed a kick and plunged back under the water. He yelped and reached out with one hand, hoping that he could find something to drag him back up to the surface to get a proper breath

Marco felt someone grab his arm, the person pulling him back up to the surface. Marco kicked to help, stumbling awkwardly upright when he was almost pulled off his feet. He couldn’t stop himself from falling forward, grunting when he collided with another person. He grabbed a better hold on the person’s arm, hissing when the sword knocked against his side. He heard an echoing grunt when the sword knocked against his rescuer’s side. He knew he should apologize, but he was too busy sucking in deep breaths and coughing up the water that he had swallowed.

The person didn’t seem to mind, he was just patting Marco’s back and holding him almost crushingly close. “Easy, easy. Take your time. I’ve got you. I promised, remember? I’m not letting go. I’ve got you.”

Marco coughed again, raising his head to look up into the familiar face that was hovering close. He tried for a smile, only manage to raise the corner of his mouth before he was leaning over to cough again. He grabbed at the person, shaking as he coughed up the rest of the water that had gotten into his lungs.

It was only when he was sure that he could breathe that the looked back up at the person, a smile crossing his face. “Hello Jean.”

Jean returned the smile, although it was shaky. “Hey Marco.”

Jean’s hand moved from its hold on Marco’s shoulder to Marco’s cheek, cupping it gently. Marco leaned into the touch, glad to feel something that wasn’t cold or the water. Even better, it was Jean alive and breathing, everything that he had wanted. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing only on the moment.

He opened his eyes when he felt the sword bang against his leg again, Marco giving Jean a sheepish smile. “Sorry. But I brought Dyrnwyn back.”

Jean looked surprised by the apology. He leaned slightly away, staring down at where the sword dangled between them. Jean blushed and let his hand drop from Marco’s cheek to pull something out of his pocket.

Marco started at the flash of red, staring at the old piece of fabric that Jean held. He reached up to touch his neck, surprised that it was bare. He stared at the neckerchief, almost afraid to reach out and take it. “You kept it?”

“I was given it. I’ve been trying to keep it in good shape, but it’s been hard. But I think you can do it.” He offered the neckerchief to Marco, only moving when Marco kept staring at it.

Jean reached forward, letting go of Marco completely to tie the neckerchief into place. Jean played with the end of it before giving a curt nod. “That looks better.”

Marco reached down to touch the scrap of fabric, tracing his fingers over the embroidered fabric. The flowers were more faded than he remembered, but that didn’t matter when compared to what Jean had done. Jean had kept the fabric while he had waited.

He lurched forward, wrapping his arm around Jean. He could tell that he surprised his friend because Jean stiffened in shock. Marco only had to wait a moment before Jean had wrapped his arms around him in return, squeezing him tightly.

Marco thought he heard Jean laugh, although the sound was muffled when Jean tucked his head against Marco’s neck. Marco huffed out his own laugh, holding onto Jean as tightly as he could. The sword still dangled awkwardly between them, but Marco didn’t pay it any attention, not when he was holding Jean again.

It didn’t matter that years had passed, as Marco knew that they had. If Jean was still alive, then all he had managed to do was transfer what would have been his own fate to Jean. But he couldn’t wish for another way, not when Jean was alive and breathing in his arms.

Marco pressed his face against Jean’s hair, taking a deep breath as he held Jean as tightly as he could. He would figure out just how much time had passed and what he had been called back for later. For the moment, he just wanted to hold onto Jean as tightly as he could until he convinced the two of them that he wouldn’t be leaving again.

He turned his face so that he could rest his cheek against Jean’s head, closing his eyes as he let himself sink into the sensation of his surroundings. He could feel the flicker of magic all around him, a feeling that had been dulled while he had been away, and the sounds of the woods all around him.

But, more importantly, he could feel the bright glow of Jean.

He was back where he belonged, by the side of his king and friend.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dotiag-sa ar idbairt do denam! - I come to make you an offering!
> 
> \- Cewri is Welsh for giant, which I thought perfect to kind of bridge the idea of roaming bands of Saxons and the roaming titans that are in the series.  
> \- Clarent is one of King Arthur’s swords. It’s commonly the one that Mordred uses to kill Arthur in the legends. Dyrnwyn is a mythical Welsh sword that would burn with fire when a worthy man drew it and burn an unworthy man.  
> \- Llamrei is the name of one of Arthur’s horses according to the Welsh tale Culhwch and Olwen. She’s supposedly responsible for the hoof print left in the rock at Carn March Arthur. I couldn’t change Buchwald to one of the other horses Arthur rides in legend, I’m too attached to him.  
> \- Prochoros is Greek for “Leader of the Dance.” Oighrig is Scottish Gaelic for “new speckled one”  
> \- A torc is a necklace of gold that is open at one end. It was worn by Celtic nobles and leaders as a sign of wealth and position.  
> \- Myrkviðr is the name of a forest in the Poetic Edda as well as a general name for forests in Germanic mythology. The name literally means dark or mirky woods and is the base word for the Mirkwood from JRR Tolkien’s novels.  
> \- Hengroen is the name of Arthur’s horse in the legend, whose name means “old skin”. This is only horse other than Llamrei owned by Arthur that was named.   
> \- Annwyn is the Welsh otherworld mostly identified with the afterlife because of its portrayal of a paradise. It’s vaguely connected to the Avalon of Arthurian legend as the Welsh otherworld matches the Christian paradise that Arthur was taken to when he was wounded.  
> \- Camlann is the name of the final battle between Arthur and Mordred, which was first recorded in the Annales Cambriae as happening in the year 537. The site of the battle is still unknown by the etymology of the word either points to it happening near a crooked river or close to an old Roman fort.


End file.
